


Blue Expectations

by bracari



Series: Not so Dickensian [3]
Category: Bleak House - Charles Dickens, Dickensian (TV), Great Expectations - Charles Dickens, Nicholas Nickleby - Charles Dickens, Oliver Twist - Charles Dickens
Genre: F/F, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-25
Updated: 2016-06-02
Packaged: 2018-05-28 23:46:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 51,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6350449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bracari/pseuds/bracari
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part II of the 'Not so Dickensian' series.</p><p>Meriwether Compeyson finds himself in a rather difficult situation, but he may yet make the most of it.<br/>Arthur Havisham feels numb and just accepts whatever comes his way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Blue Sheets

Meriwether exited the cab at approximately three in the morning and was not pleased at all with the whole business. He hadn’t showered when he had gotten home and collapsed face-first on the bed. Having been out for over twenty-four hours and not having time to shower made him feel pretty much disgusting. He wasn’t in the best mood ever, and hearing the amount of couples that wobbled out of the club in drunken melody, it wasn’t particularly inclined to improve. The things people made him do… He told the cabbie to wait for him and hoped his visit wouldn’t take too long.

The bouncers glanced at him and immediately away. Meriwether smiled.

He entered the bar and immediately got stared at by the nearest dancers. They seemed high enough to think that that would be a good idea, he mused as he walked past them to reach the bar. The lights did not faze him despite his still residing grogginess. He had had enough time to wake up whilst waiting for the cab.

Silas was at his usual place and only his worried face revealed something out of the ordinary as he looked like he had a turnip shoved up his arse. Looking to the slumped shape at his right made him halt, however.

Arthur.

Well, Silas hadn’t been joking after all. The boy looked terrible, with his shirt and jacket looking like they had been dragged on the streets. The Burberry Arthur wore to the point of exhaustion was serving as a makeshift pillow and the boy drooled onto it in deep sleep. Arthur looked peaceful, as he tended to whilst in repose. Many times he had waken up in the middle of the night, trying to get rid of the arm that gripped him tightly across his torso so he could spy on Arthur’s bag, and been frustrated by the tenacity of his slumber.

Meriwether had so much better to do than pick up drunkards at bars.

“Oi! Meriwether!” Silas called, and it was embarrassing how little he understood of the acoustics of his own establishment, that he insisted on shouting when Meriwether was so near.

He sighed and made way to Arthur’s side.

“I’m not sure what you want me to do.” he said in place of a greeting.

Silas frowned and opened his mouth to speak, probably louder than before. Meriwether detested the man, even more so his annoying Scouse accent which, paired up with a pitiful mop that couldn’t pass for hair on its best days and a limp Meriwether was not certain to be real or not, constituted the most disgusting barman he’d ever had the displeasure of being served by. He made, however, the most amazing cocktails and mixtures and his talent was wasted in The Three Calamites. Meriwether could ascertain that this unfair placement was due to his external looks. The dingy constitution of the club itself seemed to pair up nicely with the man rather well, too.

Before the barman could speak up, however, the sleeping boy announced his awakening through the means of a large yawn. He did not, however, open his eyes and remained in the same position. Meriwether wondered if he had been sleeping in the first place.

Looking back at Silas, the barman shrugged and replied in a much more softer tone.

“Your toy is broken. He sleeps fifteen minutes, wakes up for five to drink and complain and then falls asleep again.”

Meriwether sighed. Clearly the barman thought he cared. “He is neither my toy nor broken. He is drunk and asleep and none of my concern. Now, if you’d excuse me.”

He made to turn away but the barman grabbed him by the elbow.

“Get your filthy paws off me.” he warned. Silas readily complied and made a better use of his hands by grabbing a dish towel and starting to wipe the surface of a glass.

“The boy has no-where to go.” he told him “His father kicked him out.”

Meriwether frowned. He had spoken to Astor Havisham the day before but had gotten his money with no complain and went on with his day without any difficulties. “Why?”

“Well, it’s your scheme, ain’t it?” Silas exclaimed “You know what you’ve done!”

He did. He had simply blackmailed the man with a photograph, specifically going for the safer approach. He had once considered arranging things so he could catch them red handed. With that possibility in mind, Arthur would have looked just as guilty as Meriwether in his father’s eyes. Why on earth would he kick his own son out when it had clearly not been his fault? Rich people confused him at times, for all that he dealt with them. One would think they were used to extortion.

“What else did he tell you?” Meriwether asked. He need to know what Arthur had been informed of so he could deal with the situation. If he had been thrown out of Satis House without so much as an explanation, things could yet turn out more favourably towards himself. Meriwether could yet play up the boyfriend card and be supportive whilst trying to gather what sort of economical support Arthur had from his father at the moment and how he’d be able to get his hands on that as well. If he knew about the photograph, that entailed two options. On one hand, he could deceive him into thinking the phone had been stolen and make himself a victim at the hands of a very evil person. If he could not, then he had to measure Arthur’s thoughts on the whole situation.

“He just rambled, ya know?” Silas told him “Couldn’t make much of it because he slurred so much. Something about his suitcase and then a bucket.”

Meriwether stared at him. He should stop relying on others for information and really just do things himself. With no information, the smartest thing to do would be to leave the boy to fend for himself. He could use the lesson. What Meriwether could not use was a drunken teenager who might or might not know about his dealings. The suitcase and bucket mention were nonsensical to him, and probably just the product of too much alcohol.

Arthur had started to mumble in his half-asleep state, and his head lolled to the side. A single curl remained perfect in the mess that was currently his hair. He had surely raked his hands through his mane, pulled them as he found himself homeless, whatever that situation had entailed. Worried his lips. Cried, perhaps, as he was the sort that easily did that. Meriwether could imagine the situation. Astor Havisham towering over his only son, profoundly disappointed in having bred such a degenerate. For all the talk of a progressive view, Meriwether knew how people could be discriminating to the point of spurning their own family for a thing so base as a sexual orientation. He had played that card often to gather sympathy from other people. And money, mostly money. He knew himself there were better reasons to cut someone off.

He could not figure out why he had come to the bar they had met in, though. Had he harboured any hope of meeting him? If so, to ask for help or to demand an explanation? What was the reason behind drinking himself to a drunken stupor and fall asleep in such a vulnerable position? Why had he not gone to his cousin, or asked Amelia for help? Honoria had known Meriwether’s nature. Had she warned him beyond a cryptic reference Meriwether had not figured out himself? Such aggravations, and yet the perfect curl remained.

He sighed and laid his hand on his shoulder. He shook him hard, and was eventually rewarded with a groan. The boy lifted his head once and looked at Meriwether. He blinked and turned to Silas, who had grown quiet and seemed very interested in what Arthur had to say. The boy smiled slowly and dropped his head again.

“Another one! Quick, I’m having visions!”

Meriwether blew out a breath. Very slowly.

“Arthur, let’s go. You’ve had quite enough already.”

Arthur lifted his head with surprising speed and zoned in on Meriwether’s face. He seemed to recognize him, if the narrowing of the eyes was something to be measured by.

“It speaks!” he declared, before dissolving into a fit of laughter.

“I’ll take you home.” Meriwether replied, unnerved by the lack of reaction to himself.

Arthur gasped and covered his face with his hands. He looked ridiculous, big eyes peeking through the gaps his fingers left and blinking at Meriwether as if he wasn’t quite there.

“Oh! But you see, I have no home!” he declared, looking like it was merely a nuisance and not a life-changing event “Gone! Bucket told me to take the tube and I did, only I don’t think I went the right way at all.”

“Well, I’m going to take you with me and then you’ll tell me what happened.” Meriwether stated, slightly frowning at the bucket comment. He grabbed the boy by the elbow and hauled him up. Something hit his chest and looked down to see Arthur’s school bag. It was smart of him to keep it so close to him, he thought. Then he frowned. Did his father not give him any time to pack and that was why had nothing but the messenger bag? Had the fallout been so severe?

And people called _him_ cruel.

“Are you sure?” Silas asked him from the other side of the counter. Meriwether side-eyed him with enough exasperation to make him shrink into himself and nod in compliance. In a single motion he had encapsulated the entirety of their relationship.

Arthur had his face still buried in his hands, which fit Meriwether’s purposes just fine. He wouldn’t be able to talk in those conditions. Nor would he have anything of importance to say to him. Meriwether made to leave the bar, grabbing the Burberry in the process, but halted at the sound of Silas clearing his throat.

“Erm, he did drink quite a lot.”

Meriwether turned. “Meaning?”

“Well, it’s quite expensive. His tab should be paid.” Silas concluded.

Meriwether leaned towards the counter and took great care in the enunciation of his next words. They had already talked of this, back when Meriwether had brought other people to this very bar and used it as a background of his business. Back when Silas had been fresh off owing him the business itself, knowing perfectly well had Meriwether not forged the health inspection report he wouldn’t be able to open in London at all.

“I think you used too strong a drink on poor Arthur here.”

The look on Silas face was a reward unto itself, but Meriwether did not do things by halves.

“I also think you might want to keep the underneath the counter drinks like they that.” he suggested “It would be a shame if the Calamites were closed due to illegal substances.”

Silas nodded slowly, terrified into agreeing with Meriwether. He simply pushed Arthur by the elbow and led him away to the front of the bar. The boy complied easily and looked ready to fall asleep again. When he shoved him into the cab, the messenger bag hit Arthur heavily and he lolled his head. It was likely he was not injured, as Meriwether had not thrown him with much force, but he was annoyingly hard to shove to the other side of the backseat, having forgone consciousness for dormancy.

He told the cabbie his address and reclined in the backseat for the duration of the ride. The nighttime lights reflected off Arthur face in stripes of yellow. There was drool on the bottom of his chin and in the corner of his mouth, a stain of something green on the open collar. Now that he could observe him freely, he noticed the tie was gone. He looked a mess. Meriwether found that more fitting than well-worn Burberry.

When they got to their street, he paid the cabbie and dragged Arthur out of the vehicle. The boy woke up to immediately bemoan the loss of the car’s warmth. He looked twice to check if he had forgotten something, craning his neck so far Meriwether was partially worried about the possibility of snapping it. He had probably lost something other than his home today, Meriwether speculated. Perhaps the messenger bag had not been his only luggage after all.

He opened the front door, a difficult feat with an extra weight on his side, and made off to the elevator. Clicking the button to the fourth floor, he manhandled Arthur, who was finally awake but not very functional, into a corner of the lift. Catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror, he straightened out his hair. He looked messier than usual, but still better than the figure by his side. Who was currently looking at him with a curious look.

“Do you know where you are?” he asked, trying to ascertain if Arthur was completely muddled by alcohol or simply giving him a silent treatment.

Arthur did not speak, only widened his eyes in what could be comical but really wasn’t because Meriwether was getting a bit on edge with the whole business.

“We’re in Whitechapel.” he informed the boy. “You know this. We went to the gallery once and you laughed at the nudes.”

Meriwether surprised himself with the comment. He had thought that day forgotten in its entirety, only the memory of gleefully bringing his latest game so near to his flat and getting away with it. However, the imagine of the two of them leaving the building with a sternful look from the clerk at the front desk remained.

“Jack the Ripper!” Arthur exclaimed. Meriwether rolled his eyes. Well, yes, if you were going for the negative parts. He honestly did not complain of the block, though its reputation brought the weirdest tourists to his doorstep. Those, however, were the easiest to scam.

When the lift stopped, he took care in balancing the boy but it seemed he had regained a semblance of balance, and further assistance was not needed. The door to the flat was thankfully right by the elevator and soon enough they were inside. When he turned the light on, Arthur squinted and lifted his arms to cover his head. Meriwether turned them back off as an act of kindness and because honestly even he was feeling like the darkness would be better for his head.  Arthur simply leaned forward, close to tipping. Some people just couldn’t be pleased.

He threw the keys to the table near the door and made way to the small division some would call a kitchen but he never got to use so really it was more of an extra storage and water dispensary half-division to him. Opening the tap, he took care not to spill water over himself as it had happened once right before he was supposed to meet a new target. He did not need any more nuisances tonight, he thought as he filled two glasses that had come with the flat.

Turning to the main division where sofa, bed and closet were placed, he noticed Arthur had folded over himself. Offering a glass of water, he was displeased to notice he hadn’t even taken the care to look at him. How rude.

He set one glass on the island that sectioned the flat and drank from the other. Arthur still hadn’t moved.

“Arthur?” he called, finally getting the boy to look up.

“Bathroom.” He gritted out. Meriwether took in his expression and jumped to action. No no no, this would not do at all!

Grabbing Arthur by the elbow, he hauled him up and opened the bathroom door only a few steps away. He turned on the lights. As soon as he managed to find himself close to the toilet, Arthur gripped its side and vomited. And vomited.

Meriwether hovered in the doorway, looking at the state of the no longer white toilet. He wanted to leave but could not trust his bathroom to the wretched boy who currently emptied his stomach contents. Arthur heaved every thirty seconds or so but did not care to lift his head, probably weary of another round. He was certainly not going to clean that, he declared when two minutes had passed without an outflux. Arthur did not reply, but cleaned his mouth with a strip of toilet paper. It smelled, and not for the first time that night Meriwether considered how they had gotten here. Arthur had certainly never been this kind of drunk back when they were dating. He merely fell asleep and left Meriwether alone. This version was annoying.

Arthur lifted himself up and wavered slightly on his feet, hesitating on whether it was too soon to remove himself from the bathroom. When he deemed himself safe enough with a grave nod, Meriwether fetched the forgotten glass. Arthur drank greedily and returned it to him without a word, as if he had not spent ten minutes barfing into his precious toilet.

“You can lie on the bed, I’ll sleep on the sofa.” he told him, setting the glasses on the sink. He did not trust Arthur not to go at it again, and sheets were more easily replaced than sofas.

Arthur did not hesitate and sat on the mattress, trying to remove his shoes with one hand, then the two, and then giving up altogether and throwing himself backwards on the surface. Meriwether sighed and removed them himself. His feet smelled terribly too.

“You are absolutely useless, but I’ll repeat it in the morning.” he muttered, throwing the smelly things to the side of the desk. He did not need that kind of odor as a nighttime companion.

Arthur re-arranged himself on the bed and lay down properly this time, not across the mattress but along it. Satisfied, Meriwether collapsed on the sofa and drew the comforter across himelf. He knew he had bought the damned thing for a reason. The room was quiet, even their own breathing muffled by the weight of the night. He heard the sound of cars beyond.

“I don’t know how I could have fallen in love with you.”

The voice came very quietly, as if in a dream. Meriwether’s breath caught and he turned his head to the left, where Arthur lay. The boy blinked at him in the darkness of the room, rolled around and fell asleep. Meriwether resettled himself in the couch. Quite honestly, neither did he.

 

* * *

 

 

When he woke up the next day he had a cramp on his neck and his back felt stiff. He was getting too old for sleeping in a couch. Especially ones that forced him to have his feet dangling in the air.

Having drawn the shutters the previous night before even Silas had called him, he got up to the obscurity of the flat and realized with some satisfaction that it was Saturday at last. Making a quick mental evaluation of what he had achieved that week, he came to the conclusion that he had closed two separate schemes. One involving a very rich but naive widow that lived in Hammersmith and had believed his story of a poor daughter in need of an operation and given him the money without any concern other than for his nonexistent offspring. Another one, far more complicated, had entailed the convincing of a fifty year-old man of the sure investment in a company that sold elite toothbrushes. What that meant, he really was not sure. It had taken three calls with the urgent reminder of the limited offer and he’d cashed in on the middle of the week, getting rid of the number as soon as the transfer was complete.

Seeing as the only other scam he was currently in snored peacefully on the other side of the room, he decided it was high time to have a weekend off and just plan.

First, though, he needed to stretch his legs and grab something to eat.

Checking quickly the state of his companion because snores could be deceiving, he was pleased to notice he was sleeping still and that gave him ample of time to prepare what he would do next. He’d go for a jog and then return with breakfast.

Hesitating by the bed, he contemplated on hiding the computer. Seeing as it was password-protected and he couldn’t see Arthur guessing it anytime soon, he’d figure it would be safe to leave the computer at the flat. Getting out of the clothes he had fallen asleep in and getting into his running gear, he took care to bring a jacket as well. Slipping in his wallet and phone, he checked the time. Eight o’clock of the nineteenth of December. Maybe he’d finish yet another job before New Year’s, he mused as he left the sleeping boy behind him.

London was busy as usual, cars streaming the city as if it wasn’t a weekend at all. Having given up on the concept years ago, he completely understood. It was just another day, same as Sunday. The proximity to the Christmas vacations was only denounced by the decorations, though those had been there since mid-November. The jog had dissolved into a walk over the course of a few minutes as he was more exhausted than he’d have guessed first. By the time he had gotten back through Whitechapel Market he had started to feel the bite of the cold. He bought the bread and fillings the fastest he could, taking into consideration there really was nothing to be done but to give the boy back at his flat some food before he sent him on his way.

As soon as he reached the store he usually bought his morning coffee in, he stopped. No, he would eat nothing. He’d try to figure how they stood and then he’d tell the boy to lick his father’s shoes or something.

Whistling to himself, he bought the coffee and returned home, going for a shower as soon as he entered. The toilet looked a bit greenish still, and he’d surely force the boy to clean it before he left. He only felt charitable to a certain extent.

He got out, steam rising in the flat, without bothering to hold a towel around himself and using it to simply dry his hair. As soon as he did, however, a sound caught caught his attention.

"Oh," Arthur exclaimed in the stillness of the room "Even the flat was a fake."

Meriwether thought that summed it up rather nicely.

“You’re awake.” he said, dragging the towel across his torso “Good.”

Arthur did not reply nor move. The flat _had_ been a fake, about half an hour from his real one. He knew a guy who rented and owed him a favour, so he squatted for about four weekends and it hadn’t even been a nuisance to go back and forth between the two addresses with his things.

“I trust you have slept well.” Meriwether commented, knowing perfectly well he hadn’t. Six hours weren’t nearly enough for some sort of rest after a Three Calamites special. The boy simply stared up, swallowed by the blue sheets he had gathered around himself. It seemed he had not vomited again. Small blessings.

“Tell me, Arthur.” he started, prompted by the boy’s continual silence “How did you find yourself agreeing to Silas’ concoctions without a moment’s thought to how you’d return home?”

“You knew Silas before.”

Meriwether halted, surprised to get an actual sentence. “Yes, of course I did. I told him to spike your drink the first time you went there.”

“How do you know it was my first time?”

Meriwether rolled his eyes. “You told me that, don’t you remember?”

Arthur shook his head. “I mean, how did you know I was going to be there? You clearly wanted this to happen. You must have known my family, my name, my money long before I went to that bar. That’s why you chose to speak to me in the first place, isn’t it?”

Meriwether smiled. He knew he liked the boy for something other than his mouth. So he knew everything. “I had been following you since mid-September.”

Arthur remained silent for a bit and Meriwether finished drying up.

"I still don't understand the name." he eventually said.

Meriwether frowned. "The name?"

"Meriwether." he muttered to the air "Why should anyone choose that name?"

"It's my real name." Meriwether replied.

"i wish I could laugh." Arthur eventually concluded.

Meriwether found the lack of response a bit disappointing, really. He had been expecting more shouting and crying. He had thought the boy more involved in the relationship. Remembering his final words from the previous night, the signs certainly seemed to indicate attachment. He could also be in shock, and needed a bit more prodding.

“All it took was knowing where you’d be. Right place, right time.”

Arthur inhaled deeply. “I must have been so easy.”

“You were.” he lied.

To be honest, that had been the hardest courtship he had gone through and he’d gone through a lot of those. Most of them had been through dating sites, but a couple had started in person. This one had been a bit different. All those walks in the park to make the boy a little more relaxed when he’d been so uptight at first. All those endless conversations with him getting only useless information from Arthur. The times he had internally screamed when he kept talking about literature!

And Arthur had been so ready to show off, to make him see that he was oh so erudite and knowledgeable. Meriwether had left every date despairing about the uselessness of what the other seemed to find important. Arthur had been eager, yes, but so contained. He doubted his sister would have been half of the trouble. He’d needed at least six dates before he could take him to bed. At least four more weekends before he got to finally enter Satis House. Sally would be so disappointed if she knew how hard he had worked for this relationship. He was supposed to be the professional here.

“It was most annoying.” he concluded, this time truthfully. There was some thrill in the way Arthur shakily breathed out afterwards. He had not misheard the previous night and the boy was simply trying to hold himself together.

“Is this what you do for a living?” Arthur asked.

“Yes” he answered “I do it well enough to get by.”

“Then why bring your work home?”

Meriwether found some trouble answering that as he had asked that question himself and come empty-handed. He replied with another lie.

“To gloat.”

Arthur laughed quietly and that frazzled Meriwether’s composure a bit. He threw the towel onto the sofa. Why on earth did he find that funny?

“My father must have paid you poorly for my privacy then, if you must find personal gratification as an extra fee.”

Meriwether jumped before he could realize what he was doing and pressed Arthur against the mattress. The boy stilled, eyes widened in fear as Meriwether inched closer to his throat.

“I’m not the one currently homeless, Arthur, so I beg that you do try not to get on my nerves. The streets won’t be as accommodating.”

Arthur swallowed and nodded. Meriwether drew nearer. He was very aware of their proximity, even more conscious of his own nakedness. Arthur was too, he could judge by the colouring on his cheeks.

“Good boy.” he whispered, earning a shaky gasp “Now, I can be very good to you because you are young and know no better than to have gotten yourself into this situation. I can help you. I can also be very bad and you will certainly fall into worse things.”

Arthur avoided his face, but he was listening.

“So which one will it, Arthur?”

The boy turned his face towards him. “Neither. I’m not homeless.”

Meriwether drew slightly back. He wasn’t talking about his own father, surely. If he had thrown out his own son, he would not care enough to let him return. If he had judged his character correctly though his own observations and the one meeting he’d had with the man, his pride would not allow it. Even if affection demanded it. He also knew the sister to be too hung up on the Havisham patriarch to lend her brother a lending hand. He had too much dirt on the other girl for her to dare to have anything to do with him again. Then he remembered.

“Pocket?” he laughed “You think your cousin will help you?”

Arthur flinched at the derisive way he spoke of his cousin and squirmed under Meriwether’s grasp. He also flushed and narrowed his eyes in defiance.

“Oh you’re right. You should go to your cousin. The one that hasn’t visited Satis House in years. There’s nothing he could use more than a strain on his already fragile relationship with your father.”

He got up and released his hold on the boy, going to the sofa and finally wrapping the towel around his lower half. When Arthur did not not get up Meriwether knew he had hit his mark. He decided to pursue it.

“You should also call your sister. She cares about you infinitely more than she does her own father.”

Arthur made a face like he had been stamped on and Meriwether rejoiced. He got so much pleasure from watching his expressions alone.

He moved to the kitchen to drink his already cold coffee as the boy turned on his side and wept. He did not know why he was doing this. He had lived alone most of his adult life, a disastrous temporary arrangement with Sally having him swear off the thing altogether. He’d said it was gloating, and it wouldn’t be incorrect. Maybe he did not like having loose ends. Maybe he had hit new levels of sadism. He really did not know. Maybe he just wanted some fun. He’d fuck so many people over and never got to appreciate the consequences. What better way to experience it than with someone so tame as Arthur?

When he came back, the boy had lifted himself into a sitting position. His back was against the window so he could not make out his expression, but what the counter-light did not share he could guess. He was heartbroken and had given up on a hope of someone having his back.

“What am I going to do?”

Meriwether smiled and made a toast with his paper cup. To Arthur’s new life as a degenerate and an outcast.

“Now you’re cleaning the toilet.” he answered “Then we’re having breakfast.”


	2. Blue Sweater

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur is living with Meriwether now and all the struggles that entails.  
> Amelia calls him with worry and he might scream, if he had the voice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: sexual content
> 
> Hope you 'enjoyed' last chapter's Meriwether. This one is through Arthur's POV and I hope it hurts.

_“Gorgeous.” Meriwether told him, lips on his neck. Arthur arched backwards, trying to gain balance whilst straddling the man beneath him. Naked as they were, he could feel Meriwether’s erection gently prodding his thigh. His arms stroked his back from shoulderblades to bottom and it was electrifying. He could feel him everywhere._

Arthur rolled on the bed, feeling the texture of the sheets on his elbows and neck.

_Smiling against the kiss, he led his hand to Meriwether’s cock and gently stroked. The other man laughed quietly into his mouth and Arthur felt himself shiver with arousal._

The bed felt too small for him, somehow.

_“What I really want is your mouth.” Meriwether whispered against his ear, tingling the little hairs on the back of his neck. Arthur agreed with another kiss and dragged himself to Meriwether’s feet. Licking a stripe up his shaft, he looked at the man with adoration._

There was a special place for this sort of torture, he knew it. A place where the darkness only served to discover the sights of woe, a place where peace and rest could never dwell... Milton said that of Hell, but Arthur was sure he also meant the mind.

_“God, you’re so beautiful.” Meriwether gasped above him. His breathy voice was the best kind of encouragement. It never failed to make him try his best._

He put the pillow over his head, but even thus he was chased by thoughts.

_“I want to take a photo.” Meriwether confessed, breathless. Arthur popped out and smirked. Yes, of course. Why not?_

He wrenched himself from the bed with an angry cry, sheets thrown into the floor with the urgency of freedom.

It took him a while to gather himself, as it had for the past five days. The first stage was already done with, waking up and knowing what had happened.  The second day had been the worst in this aspect because he had had to sleep on the sofa and Meriwether had slept on. The two juxtaposed images of memory and reality had been like a slap to the face. He was Daphne trying to outrun Apollo, a race doomed from the start. The maliciousness that rooted him was not from his surroundings alone, but the strength of the replay could not be attributed to remembrance alone.

The second phase was to recognize the time of the day, muddled by sleep and bile as he was. He usually woke up at noon, but he'd say it was currently morning by the light prodding insistently through the shutters. He had yet to see them open, and could guess that Meriwether wasn't a morning person, much like Arthur himself.

Which brought him to the third phase.

Inhaling deeply, he was disconcerted to notice that even in his absence he could smell Meriwether’s after-shave. The clothes scattered in the floor told him that he must have left in a rush as it did not seem his habit to leave his possessions in such a state. He picked them up with a sigh, knowing it was better to get these things done with before Meriwether came back to the flat. It was a Wednesday, he recalled. Monday and Tuesday had given him enough insight into his host's habits for Arthur to guess what would happen this day. He probably had ample of time before dinner to do his chores.

He considered what he had come to, paying rent through domestic chores. He did not do them well, that much he knew, but Meriwether was not too demanding. When it came to washing and ironing, he did not have the instruments to do that himself. Meriwether had told him he had to drop them by the laundromat in the middle of the week.

Which was today. So, that was probably why he had not taken more care with them. Right. So he needed to get to the laundry, which was about two streets away.

Arthur lifted an arm and smelled the baggy blue sweater Meriwether had lent him.

“God” he complained to the empty flat. He had not gone out for five days, which meant that other than the shower Meriwether had forced him to take after breakfast on the first day, he had been in squalor for that same amount of time. He was absolutely disgusting and felt even worse.

Arthur padded towards the kitchen and filled a glass of water, getting hit with a powerful spray by the erratic tap. He sighed. Every single time. He should be used to it but wasn't, at all. The water did not bring him any relief, for throat or spirit. He had an inkling of might, though.

Kneeling down to reach the second cupboard door to the right, he felt around and grasped the bottle. He had found it just yesterday morning when Meriwether had left with distinct instructions to 'have the cupboards so clean I can eat off them'. He had probably forgotten the brandy when he had made that suggestion, though, and Arthur had to find joy where he could. He'd drunk a bit then and felt warm for the remainder of the day. He guessed he'd need it now too.

He rummaged the other cupboard for the glass he'd cleaned and snuck to the back the previous day. He guessed it wasn’t usually used because he hadn't seen Meriwether drink in the few days spent at the flat and the glass had been dusty when he first picked it up.

Arthur poured himself two fingers and nursed the glass for a few seconds between index and thumb. It had to be brandy, because the world was never lazy in making him hurt. His favourite, Meriwether had said the first time. It had quickly become his favourite too, always a glass before having sex. 'To get the blood pumping', Meriwether would say.

He heard the buzzing of the phone and closed his eyes. Again.

Pocket had been messaging him since Monday, when he failed to call him himself. He'd been temporarily pleased because someone had not forgotten him. Harbouring some hope, he'd typed a reply. Then Meriwether had come home, and he opted out of it. He did not need to bring his cousin into this mess of a situation. He should not need to, not when it had all been caused by his own foolishness. Afterwards, the messages had been even more insistent and he'd gone through the night watching the phone lighting up the flat. Meriwether had not been pleased at all from the situation and had removed the phone from Arthur's hand only to turn it off with a glare. Arthur did not mind. He had planned to do that himself. Eventually.

He downed the drink, repeating the concealing routine again.

He  returned to the main division and picked the phone from the confines of the bed. He had spent the entire night half-dazed in the sofa, comforter wrapped tightly around himself without lending any type of warmth.  Then Meriwether had vacated the bed to go wherever he had to go to on his daily life of ruining people’s existence and Arthur took his chance. It wasn't all that cold in the flat, despite the quality of the building's materials. The sun rose every day opposite the door and they faced the street. It still wasn't his own room. He'd had constant heating then.

Sleeping on Meriwether's bed helped him fall asleep, much as that made him feel like he was playing into his hand again. It was comfortable only because it retained some body heat, he told himself. Smelling him on the sheets, however, brought memories that were more cruel than anything the man himself could say to him now.

He checked the phone. Seven more messages from his cousin.

 

Matthew    Wed Dec 23rd  08:03  
Still rotting away in bed, I see

Matthew    Wed Dec 23rd  08:05  
Where are you? You haven't been on for 5 days now...

Matthew    Wed Dec 23rd  08:24  
I've called Amelia. She's worried. I am worried too

Matthew    Wed Dec 23rd  09:25  
Please reply

Matthew    Wed Dec 23rd  10:13  
Please call me

Matthew    Wed Dec 23rd  10:14  
I just want to know if you're alright

Matthew    Wed Dec 23rd  10:50  
Please, Arthur

 

A missed call from Pocket and another from Amelia. He figured she must be back from America. Worried, perhaps. Needing to understand why her brother wasn't spending the holidays at home.

As he mused on the probability of Amelia showing up in Whitechapel by some magic trick, the phone rang. Amelia again.

He considered waiting for it to ring out, pretend he had lost the phone. Then he thought of just shutting it off and giving his sister the message of not wanting to be disturbed. He couldn't decide on whether he wanted to be disturbed or not. He wanted her to tell him it was alright and that he was to go home and he knew that to be impossible. He feared talking with Amelia would make things worse.

Sighing, he picked up.

“Arthur? Oh, Arthur, I'm so glad you answered!” she exclaimed over the line, sounding actually pleased “Pocket has been calling me non-stop but I had my phone turned off during flight. He says you haven't spoken to him since last Friday.”

He hummed in reply before she continued.

“And I don't know where you've been because father refuses to answer my questions. What happened?”

“Hi.” he simply replied, unsure to where to start from that tirade of sentences.

“Hi? We haven't seen each other in a week, you vanish and not even our cousin knows where you are and all you have to say is 'hi'?”

“Hi, Amelia.” Arthur said. There was silence on the other line before his sister spoke up again.

“Arthur, where are you?”

He tried to smile but felt himself cringe . “I'm at Meriwether's.”

“ _Thank god_.” Amelia  whispered “That was my first thought too, but I found it weird that you did not warn me in advance.” she hesitated “And then there is father. Arthur, he's acting a little strange. I asked for you at breakfast and he avoided my question. He never avoids me, so why is he doing that now?”

Arthur cleared his throat. “Yeah, well, he's not too happy with me.”

“Oh, Arthur. What have you done now?”

It hurt, a bit. Her immediate thought had been on what he had done, not what had been done to him. As if their father had not given them both proof of his general disgust towards his own son. As if he had ever done anything other than try not to be in his way, especially after his mother had died.

“I...I will be away for a while.” he said, hoping to turn the phone off soon or he might cry into it.

“Arthur, meet me for lunch.”

“At what time is that?”

“In about one hour. At the usual coffeeshop. Are you very far?”

He was. But he knew his sister would not relent. He agreed with a sigh and turned the phone off without saying anything else. He _was_ very hungry. Looking at the scattered clothes and sheets, he guessed he might make the most of the journey and have these done with. He put his Burberry on, over the shirt and pants he had slept in. Hobo chic, he guessed.

Shoving the items into a duffle bag, he pocketed his phone and looked around at the mess he had created. He'd probably be back before Meriwether anyway. Closing the door behind him, he tried to recall the directions Meriwether had given him as a way of alienating himself from his growing nervousness. He did not intend on meeting his sister. The shame of having been fooled into bringing a stranger to Satis House under her own approval proved too great. He was not sure of what he'd tell her either.

 _‘Sorry, sister, but I accidentally brought a con man to your childhood home.’_ He did not think he would gain the courage to do it. The missing calls and unanswered messages from his cousin told him as much. Arthur needed time to properly process what had happened, that had to be it.

Doing the full cycle of laundry took more time than he had expected it to. He had had to ask for instructions twice. A teenage girl on the other side of the counter took pity on him and had been polite enough to give him a hand. He might have cried a little with relief.

When he finally arrived at the coffeeshop – on the other side of London and too close to Mayfair for his comfort – Amelia was already waiting for him. He spotted her from the pavement but she did not notice him, busy over her phone. She must be on vacations, if she did get any vacations at all.  Christmas decorations dangled above him from the door and made him think of mistletoe and presents. Tomorrow would be Christmas eve, he remembered. First Christmas away from home. It wouldn't really matter if he made it even worse.

Arthur entered the coffeeshop and navigated his way around the packed room, stopping in front of his sister and sitting down. He hadn't shaved, hadn't showered, his hair must look like a brown mop and even the Burberry seemed to have a stain on the lapel. He would say he had never sunk lower, but he did not want to jinx the conversation before it had even started.

Amelia jumped in her seat “Arthur, what happened? Father won’t tell me anything.”

Arthur opened his mouth to speak and found himself blank. What could he ever say that would lead his sister to believe his innocence? All the truth? How could he do that, be humiliated further?

“He found out about Meriwether.” Arthur said as a starter, wringing his hands.

Amelia gasped and her hands flew on top of his in concern. He continued, not able to return the touch. “He found...evidence of him being at Satis House two weeks ago.”

He tried speaking without looking at her, but even that did not make it easier to handle the deception he had unwittingly led his sister into. He wished he hadn't looked at all when he looked up and her face showed not pity but disillusionment. It was funny how he found himself easily identifying disappointment in the face of others.

“I...I agreed to a photo.” he eventually confessed, when her shocked silence proved too much. It only stretched further and he wanted to say something that would make it right, somehow. That would undo things. To have said no, that was something he agonized over night and day. Every time he heard Meriwether's voice telling him to tidy up, whenever he grinned sarcastically at his efforts to do the chores. He wanted to be able to explain things better, to have developed a language with his sister throughout the years, as she seemed to have had with Honoria. He could say how it wasn't actually his fault. He could mention how the past five days he had only seen another human being and it had been the one that had taken everything from him with the click of a finger. Barely a second. The time of a photo and his life had been ruined.

“How could you?” she finally said, removing her touch “You know father trusts me to take care of the house when he's away. I am in charge of Satis House ever since he let me work in the brewery and now I failed him without even realising it!”

She leaned back in the chair and visibly deflated. Her hands were hidden under the table, probably twisting as they often did in anxious times.

“Arthur, I risked so much letting your boyfriend into the house! You introduced him to your family, I let let him sleep in your room, eat our food, share our weekend. I trusted you and you took a photo?”

Arthur felt something hot searing his lungs and robbing him of breath. Trust, she had said. She didn't understand. Arthur had trusted Meriwether too.

“Amelia, I did not want the photo to be taken.” he tried, feeling the prickling in the corners of his eyes not for the first time that week.

“You said you agreed to it.” Amelia sentenced “That means you wanted it.”

There was silence and Arthur looked at his sister as if from a distance. Her face seemed a distortion of what he thought he knew. She looked so much like their father like this, grave and accusing. Funny how difficult situations made people even more difficult. How difficult people made him go through difficult emotions. The conversation had slipped away from him, somehow. He tried to gather the proper words again, to find something that would explain away the events of the past week, something that would make sense to her and bring some resolution to him. It was hard explaining events that were still happening. He lost all sense of objectivity, a kind of information Amelia might understand. Honoria was the writer, not he. He inhaled sharply.

“What of Honoria?” he asked with some hope “What did she say?”

Amelia frowned for a moment. Arthur absently noticed how her hands had tightened in a fist.

“I mean, she tried to warn me but I did not get it.” he muttered, half to himself “Surely she must have said something to you!”

“Warn you of what, Arthur? Of your own folly?”

Arthur set his own indignation aside and pursued his questioning.

“Of Meriwether!” he exclaimed, hands slamming on the table and making some of the customers stare at them with displeasure “She knew who he was before I did!”

If his sister would not believe him, maybe she would believe her best friend. Her best friend who for some reason had been cryptic and did not think to give him a call or done something that would have made things clearer.

“Maybe she did it on purpose so I would be out of the house...” he insinuated, immediately struck with regret.

Amelia remained silent for a few moments, clearly gathering herself. Chin held high and nose higher. Shoulders set back and mouth ready. A true Havisham. The exact opposite of what Arthur needed. When her answer came, he had already predicted it. For all the lack of clairvoyance he had displayed regarding his love life, the signs of people refusing him were hints he managed to identify every time.

“I can see you're very distressed, Arthur, so I'll forgive you trying to bring your long quarrell with Honoria into this.” she said, clear crystal and aiming for a lighter tone. She smiled and put her hands on top of the table.

“It's alright. You had a falling out with father but I'm sure he will forgive your indiscretions and my misjudgments and you'll be back before New Years!”

Arthur stared, quite empty of words. He nodded even as a weight dropped on his stomach. Nothing he could say now would make a difference. She had a plan, an approach, expectations. He was done here. He had talked, his sister had talked. They were done. Not ten minutes had passed.

He got up and left, only silence behind him.

The walk back to the flat was spent in a haze. Nothing definite about his steps, his intention. There was a section of his walk that made him stand closer to the river. People walking, laughing and enjoying the holidays. Kids about his age kissing and speaking loudly. He briefly considered throwing his phone into the Thames, but knew no more of it. The tube was a mess that whirled on without his knowledge and he only heard the stop by chance. When he did reach Whitechapel, he found himself quite lost until he found the drycleaner. Then it was just five minutes before getting to the building, bag hitting his side with every step. He tried to check the time, but found his pocket empty. It seemed he had thrown the phone away after all. Oh well, that was a more definite solution to his communication problems. He hoped Matthew wouldn’t be too mad.

The flat was blessedly empty and it was probably only the middle of the afternoon because the sun was still quite high. He dropped the bag on the floor and padded to the kitchen, spare keys thrown to the sofa. He had raised the shutters before he left, but the sight of the flat was even more daunting with all the light.  His heart weighed and he just wanted to sleep. Maybe a glass more before he lied down, yes. That's what he needed.

He realized that he had not eaten that day. He had hoped for his sister to buy him lunch, but had stormed out before they were even interrupted by a waiter. Maybe Meriwether would bring food. He had brought Thai and Chinese earlier that week and did not demand that Arthur cooked, which he was thankful for. He doubted he had the kitchen appliances needed anyway.

One glass was not enough anymore. The second came with a thought to its consequences but the third and fourth buzzed by with a speed he did not believe himself. He lost count afterwards, forgetting the glass for his own mouth. The bottle was emptying alarmingly fast. He dropped to the bed still grasping it. One more swig and it was completely empty. The bed was so comfortable even without sheets... Oh, how he wished it was Meriwether's neck he was grasping.

He fell asleep and cared not.

 

* * *

 

 

Arthur woke up to the cold kiss of water.

Sitting up and spluttering, he heard something roll on the floor. His head hurt like hell and his mouth tasted of something rotting. He remembered the bottle and falling asleep and as soon as his gaze focused on the person before him, he froze.

“How did you find my liquor, Arthur?”

“Enjoyable.” he replied, not predicting the hand on his neck but knowing something would befall him.

“I thought I had hidden it pretty well.” Meriwether said, squeezing slightly. Arthur did not mind. He didn't feel anything.

“Apparently not.” he said, filter apparently gone like the brandy.

“Apparently not.” the other man repeated. Arthur glanced back at him and regarded the barely disguised tension underneath. He was still wearing that fancy vest of his, the one that he seemed to favour over sweaters despite aging him. He guessed it was because it made him look like a businessman. He also had on the charcoal shirt he had worn that time they had gone to Regent's Park, back in November. The glass on the hand currently not squeezing his throat told him where the water had come from. How nice of him. His first instinct had probably been to kick him awake.

Arthur's stomach chose that particular moment to manifest itself. Meriwether smiled and released his throat. Arthur had watched these fluctuations for nearly a week. Meriwether would torment him in one way and watch the results. If it worked, he'd pursue it. If not, he would start looking for new cues. Right now, he probably had a new tactic.

“Pity.” Meriwether whispered “I brought some food, but you're probably full.”

Arthur closed his eyes. He was starving. He had not noticed it before because the drink fooled him into thinking himself sated. With no other items in the house, he had turned to the brandy as a comfort. Now he could smell something from the kitchen. Whatever he could say about Meriwether, he had not been starving him. What use he had for him now he had gotten his money, it seemed to be weight heavier on his mind than the cost of the food.

Meriwether sat on the sofa and watched Arthur, hand over his mouth. His eyes seemed to consider the bare bed, the absence of folded clothes. Arthur's whole ineptitude as a housekeeper and whatever else he could read on him that had happened that afternoon. What he was planning, he did not know. It did not bode well for him. Opposite each other and just inches apart, the tension was so great Arthur could have sunk down at his knees just to make it stop. To put a hand over his face and ignore the stranger that had come out of that well-known body.

“Here's what we're going to do, Arthur dear.” he started, arranging himself so he could lounge on the sofa, chin perched in one hand “You're going to get me a new bottle of the same brand of brandy and then you'll return. You'll make the bed, fold my clothes. Then and only then you will eat what I bought. Are we clear?”

Arthur nodded, somewhat surprised. He did not think that too bad. It was only fair since he was to do those things anyway. He got up, slightly wobbling on his legs and accidentally kicking the bottle at his feet. Picking it up and putting it on the counter, he almost left the flat before he combination of Meriwether's continual gaze and his empty pocket stopped him.

“Aren't you going to give me the money?” he asked, turning over to his flatmate.

Meriwether faked surprise over the question. “Money? Oh, no. _You_ drank it, not I.”

He paused and looked at Arthur in the eye, head tilted. “No, I think you should compensate me for the loss. It's a much more democratic way of doing things, don't you think?”

Arthur gaped. “But I have no money.”

Meriwether smiled.

“And you think I care?”

Arthur clenched his jaw. He knew there would be something.

“How am I supposed to get brandy without money?”

“You'll think of something, I'm sure.” Meriwether concluded. Arthur gulped and got out of the flat before he did or said something he would regret.

It was night already, he realized when he set his foot outside the building, though he could not tell the time. He recalled the phone and damned his foolishness, but there was nothing to be done now. The streets were still busy, so it probably was still evening. The restaurant in the corner of the street was already going on full steam, but there were no people getting inside. Peeking through the window, he saw that it was nearly seven. Definitely earlier than he had first thought.

There was a bar in the restaurant and he could see the bottles behind the counter. He couldn't recognize brandy from afar, but it was just as well. He supposed he could not go in and ask for a bottle of Hennessy. If he still had his phone, he could have called his cousin and he'd surely bring him one.

Tearing himself away from that thought and the winding roads it would take him along, he crossed the street and headed towards the main area of Whitechapel. Couples stared at him and he guessed he must strike a rather peculiar figure.

The Whitechapel market. Open from Monday to Saturday, Meriwether had told him when they had once visited during a date. It was mostly grocery and toiletries, but there were some unexpected quirks. Arthur had bought another figurine for his collection from the odd antiques stall and had put it on his desk. He wondered if his father had got rid of his stuff, the posters and trinkets he had accumulated over the years. His books and clothes. There was some soreness derived from the loss of most of his life, but he mostly felt the shame to have been brought to this position. All his belongings, much as he loved them, did not substitute a home. It might have taken the extreme to realize this, but at least he had eventually reached that conclusion. He only wept the loss of his suitcase. He had had actual money there, and his copy of ‘Maurice’. It felt like a tremendous waste. It had been a limited edition.

Now the marketplace was mostly empty, the residual produce being either shoved into the cars of the stalls' owners or gathered in bags, probably for the shelters. He could have been in one of them, but the thought of sinking so low irked him. That he was currently living with the con man that played him seemed to him a better thought, for a reason he could not fathom. He supposed it was the Havisham pride his cousin had so often denounced and he had himself scorned as an imagining of his. Facing himself with the task of retrieving a bottle of brandy from god knows where, he could not deny the jab at his pride. Spotting a still mounted stall a few metres across from him, the jab turned into a serious wound. It was a liquor stall, the entirety of the surface overrun by bottles and decanters.

The man that owned it was currently engaging with two women. He approached the spot carefully, trying not to gather attention to himself. The surrounding stalls were all nearly empty, only a woman with a table full of fabrics of all colours, some actually glowing in the darkness of the night remaining in that part of the market. The lights from the street lamps did not seem to reach this section, a fact he was thankful for. The women to his left seemed interested in choosing a liquor for their Christmas pudding and the man seemed _very_ interested in recommending them all.

Arthur stepped up to the stall perfectly aware that he was being seen and that he was basically as obvious as a glowing sign with the word 'THIEF' written on it. He persisted, though, praying that the goodwill of the seller once he got rid of half his stock to the ladies would be so high as not to report him. He wanted his presence in jail to be reduced to once a week if possible.

He raked his eyes across the selection of spirits and wines. There were quite a few and maybe the man hadn't had good sales that day. He tried not to feel guilty about what he was going to do, but the thrill he felt when he recognized the bottle erased it completely. It was quite near the place the customers were chatting, but if he turned sideways he could pretend he was just checking the label more closely. Or would that made him look even more obvious?

He decided to do it anyway, and closed his hand around the neck. The chatter behind him did not seem to slow down. The women were now talking about their children's preferences and how there had been that one Summer they had tried to use a different wine in the mixture of their cupcakes and it had resulted in an abomination. Arthur hoped the man did manage to make a sale, because the small talk alone was a service he deserved to have compensated.

Sliding the bottle inside his open coat and turning away from the stall, he startled at the sound of the seller's voice.

“Hey!” he called. Arthur turned, heart racing. He tried to clutch the bottle closer to himself, tried not to run away immediately and ruin whatever chances he had.

The selled looked at him with a bright smile on his face.

“Merry Christmas!” he exclaimed. Arthur must have looked slightly lost, but he managed to reply with his holiday wishes before removing himself entirely from the stall. He was certain the seller had seen him and his ‘purchase’. If the holiday spirit had led him to turn a blind eye to what must be over thirty pounds worth of booze, Arthur was not going to complain.

When he rang the bell from the street and Meriwether let him up, he did not quite know what to expect. He had brought a bottle on Meriwether's loathsome terms but he suspected he would not be rewarded for it.

Meriwether opened the door with an expression that could be called smug and Arthur would characterize as his default one.

“Are you so hungry you could not bear to search for a little longer?” he asked, cocking his hips. He had dressed down to a sweater and a pair of jeans.

Arthur removed the bottle and dared to raise an eyebrow.

It was nothing short of incredible to render someone like Meriwether speechless, if only for a moment. Something exhilarating bloomed in his chest but he took care to shut it down as soon as it appeared. It was too similar to what they had been before, a memory too close and now tarnished for him to dwell on.

“Well...” Meriwether said, smirking with disbelief “I wonder how you managed to get one.”

Arthur flashed a mocking smile and walked past his as quickly as he could, shoving the bottle into his hands.

“Yeah, keep wondering.” Arthur muttered, moving towards the food on the counter and grabbing a sandwich from the confines of the bag. Displacing himself to the sofa, he noticed the had yet to make the bed and fold the clothes, but Meriwether did not seem to mind. He was too occupied watching him like a hawk.

“I will, actually.” he finally said, setting the bottle carefully by the counter and sitting on the bed in a position inverse to the one they had occupied earlier. There was silence for a little while and Arthur could pretend that this was yet another stay at his boyfriend’s flat, another hang-out that did not include any perverse origins or consequences.

“You did not have any money, so you didn’t buy it.” he reasoned, leaning forward.

Arthur simply chewed. As long as he kept talking he did not have to make the bed.

“You didn't call your cousin because you're too proud.”Meriwether continued. And because he had no phone, Arthur mentally added.

Meriwether stopped and grinned.

“Arthur, did you steal that bottle?” he asked. Arthur choked and realized Meriwether had been leading to this question and as such he must have known from the start. He felt himself blush angrily at his own predictability.

Meriwether laughed, so painfully like before this whole thing had happened it took Arthur's breath away. He finished the sandwich trying not to think of it and knowing he would be forced to hear it again in his dreams.

“I did not think you had it in you.” Meriwether confessed, voice still laced with laughter. Arthur felt the touch of a hand on his shoulder and he must have turned completely red by then because the next thing he knew Meriwether had raised himself up.

Arthur gazed at the man above him and his heart stopped briefly as the hand slid across his neck to the curls beside his ear. There was a moment of stillness in which neither spoke nor moved, Meriwether towering and Arthur crouching on the sofa.

“Well done.” Meriwether complimented, stroking the hair and then leaving towards the kitchen area.

Arthur hated the part of himself that was pleased at the compliment. His heart clenched and expanded at once and it confused him terribly. He hated the man so much, yet his touch and voice brought him great pleasure. He could do nothing but despair at the unfairness of his position, stuck in a tiny apartment both as victim and accomplice to Meriwether's crimes.

“You still have your chores, though.” the devil called, already pouring over his phone and probably arranging for the ruin of somebody else's life. Arthur could perhaps prevent that, but a wicked part of him - one that Meriwether would certainly take advantage of again - wished others to suffer as he had. As he did.

He got up with a sigh and resigned himself to the housework he'd had years of others doing for him. How the mighty fall indeed. Only, he had never been mighty at all.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Here are some of the references I made during the chapter.
> 
> REFERENCES:
> 
> (...)No light, but rather darkness visible
> 
> Served only to discover sights of woe,
> 
> Regions of sorrow, doleful shades, where peace
> 
> And rest can never dwell, hope never comes(...)
> 
> (Milton, Paradise Lost) - http://www.engliterarium.com/2008/10/milton-hell-in-paradise-lost.html
> 
>  
> 
> Apollo and Daphne - amorous vignette in which Apollo, struck by a love arrow, chases Daphne who has been struck by one of hatred. He chases her until he manages to catch her and then she turns into a tree. Allegory of either chastity vs lust or prey vs predator.


	3. Blue Liquor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur Havisham’s Christmas is especially tortuous this year. Maybe New Year's will be better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: body image issues, alcoholism, sexual content.
> 
> I love how people were more shocked with Arthur losing his phone last chapter rather than worry with how much he drank.

It was well-past midnight. Phoneless, he had counted until he could no more, giving up when nothing else happened. No sister shouting his name because she had a gift, no Honoria to complain of having eaten too much. No message from Matthew, no father telling him to mind his sister and do whatever she wanted. His belly felt hollow from his meagre dinner - heated leftovers from noon - and he thought of the Christmas pudding back at Satis House. He always ate more of the dessert than the actual dinner,  much to his father’s consternation and his sister’s partial admiration. _You have such a sweet tooth, Arthur. One of these days you’re going to roll out of the table._ How he wanted to hear that again.

He couldn’t quite remember a Christmas day he had not helped with cooking. Not actually cooking like what those families across the flat had done when he had watched them earlier. Not like the single mother that had to rely on her neighbours to get something more for the day. Not like a teenager that didn’t even show up at home during the day, Arthur guessed to work, and brought take-away. Or the nuclear family that had filled the house with guests he had had the chance to observe in the streets earlier that week. Arthur guessed they were part of the neighbourhood like he wasn’t yet and hoped not to become.

No, he’d helped only with dessert. It had started in his eighth Christmas, back when his mother had been healthy enough to still cook as she so loved. He’d been impatient then, or his sister had been and he’d do everything she did at the time, when his mother had disappeared into the kitchen in the morning and never left for the remainder of the day.

They had found her bend over the oven, peeking at the roast through the tinted glass. Arthur had laughed and she invited them to a ‘Christmas cooking course’. In the end all they had helped with had been dessert. When she died, it was all Arthur and Amelia knew how to do.

Arthur was currently alone, Meriwether long gone to a Christmas party he had invited himself to. He had mentioned that the hostess was a ‘wealthy minx who really flirted too much’ and that he’d get from her a large sum before the year ended. Arthur guessed he would either fuck her or fuck her over. A combination of the two if everything went according to plan.

‘I’ve already scored a free dinner at the Sketch thanks to her.”, he’d told Arthur, folding out his tuxedo that did not seem a rental despite Arthur knowing perfectly it was since he had picked it up earlier that day.

Arthur had stopped as he turned the page of Meriwether’s most fascinating book - the civil code.

“The Sketch? As in the Sketch Lecture Room and Library?”

Meriwether had turned to look at him. Arthur had simply tried to remain as inconspicuous as he could,, continuing to look at the pages without registering its contents.

“Right. Mayfair. You probably splurged all the time with your dear father.”

He hadn’t for a very long time. But he remembered playing his his mother’s skirt once in the Lecture Room. He could almost feel the texture of the lace on his hands, how he’d told her she looked like a ballerina.

Yet another memory tarnished by Meriwether.

“No, never went there. Just passed by on my way to other places.” he had replied, continuing on his reading.

Afterwards Meriwether had forced him to take a shower ‘because you already stink and I don’t want that sofa to reek of rancid teenager’. He had himself taken a bath first, of course, and the bathroom had been foggy and uncomfortable and Arthur could not even see himself in the mirror. He guessed it was for the best. He must look disgusting.

Arthur had chosen to fill the tub with water instead of showering, trying to at least relax somewhere in the flat while Meriwether conjugated a plentitude of socks and shoes with the tuxedo. Couldn’t he just chose plain white or black socks? He’d look amazing either way and people wouldn’t even look at his feet. It was annoying and it hurt, somewhat.

When he had managed to  find a position that allowed him to relax,  Meriwether had stormed in and started to shout about how he had told him to shower, not swim. Arthur had given him the cold shoulder and simply washed the suds from his neck, secretly relieved when Meriwether left again without further prodding. He probably had feared getting wet. Arthur wouldn’t have minded.

The great clock chimed again. One in the morning on a Christmas night and he was paying compliments to the man that ruined his life. All the traditions he would miss out on this year because of him and he’d still feel his mouth water as if a sex-crazed teenager. Losing all that comfort only to spend Christmas alone in a tiny apartment he shared with a con man.

He only relaxed when the man was not around, and only managed a deep sleep when he stole the bed, unmade and still smelling of Meriwether’s hair products. He often wondered if the sheets held his dreams, if they bled onto Meriwether's like poison. He would be extremely pleased if they did. It would only do him good, a conscience to boast of. Much as Arthur would struggle to admit it and hated himself for thinking it, he’d forgive Meriwether. Eventually. If he apologized. If he sunk to his knees and kissed the inside of his thigh like he had many times before, only with truth and not conviction. If he kissed him and his mouth did not taste of lies. If he fucked him and it felt like home again.

He sighed as he left himself getting hard. Why did he do this to himself? How could he sink low and yet go lower?

There was nothing to do about it, he thought as he led his hand to his pubes. And there was no shame in it if no-one knew. He could touch himself to the memory of Meriwether all he wanted and he would be committing no crime. If the man had used him, why couldn’t he use him too?

Arthur started touching himself in earnest, digging the heel of his hand down his navel, down his jeans, down the hair, down until he touched his hardening length. He searched for an image, an after-touch of Meriwether but there was none that came to his mind. So many hours thinking about him and his brain failed when he needed him the most. It was a very _Arthur_ thing to do, he had to admit. Concentrating like that, however, he seemed to grasp other stimulus more easily.

One of the ties Meriwether had left on the bed seemed to call to him. It was the one Meriwether used the least, but Arthur’s favourite. He reached out, nearly falling to the floor in the process, and grasped it. Returning to his previous position, he curled it around his hand and touched himself again.

Arthur’s laugh was half-gasped in the quiet of the flat. The silk of the tie was very good. Too good, and he found himself chasing his own grip. Soon enough the fluid turned the grip nearly frictionless and he tried to come desperately, mind blessedly blank.

Then he heard the keys.

Grabbing the comforter with shaky hands, he threw it over himself and shoved the hand behind his back. Meriwether entered but did not turn the lights on. He threw the keys onto the counter, opened the cupboard and poured himself some water. The he walked into the main area, and only then did he notice Arthur.

“You’re awake.”

Meriwether smelled like sex. Sweat, smoke and his stupid after-shave. And Arthur’s erection was not waning at all. He wondered if Meriwether could smell that on him.

“You know, Arthur?” Meriwether told him, taking a sip from his glass “ I’m sorry I haven’t brought you with me. This one had a very voyeuristic streak.”

He was gloating and Arthur wanted to shut his eyes and ears from the sort of effect it provoked on him. He wanted to continue what he had been doing and felt helpless about his interrupted orgasm. The tie closely tightened around his fist burned into his skin. He was blushing, he knew that. His body betrayed him whenever it could.

“I could have fucked you in front of her and she’d get off on it. I had to make do with the nearest willing person.”

He paused and grinned. “Blackmail it’ll be then.”

“It’s your specialty after all.” Arthur bit back. Meriwether cocked an eyebrow and mock-saluted him with the glass.

“Too bad this one’s done too.” he paused, clearly taking in Arthur’s flushed face “ Maybe next time.”

He turned and looked at the bed. Arthur knew what he saw. Three ties out of his four. When Meriwether turned back, he expected to see anger, definitely something that would get Arthur hard in the street to think about what he had done. Meriwether’s clothes were sacred, that much he knew. He wouldn’t take well to their profanation.

When he did manage to look at the man, his gaze was not one of wrath or even displeasure. It was a dark look, Arthur couldn’t deceive himself. It was clearly the con man who looked back at him, but he seemed appreciative of Arthur’s lack of propriety.

“You’ve got to show me what use you have given to that horrid piece of fabric.”

Oh, so that was it. If he didn’t like the thing, why had he bought it in the first place?

Arthur showed him the hand and Meriwether chuckled. As soon as he had done so, however, he had kneeled down and grabbed Arthur’s hand. He smelled it and pressed a kiss to Arthur’s knuckles.

“You naughty boy. I haven’t taught you this one.”

Arthur moaned at the compliment. Meriwether took it as an incentive to keep talking.

“You must have felt terribly lonely.” he whispered, hand releasing Arthur’s to dip under the comforter, across his chest and stomach, down his navel and eliciting yet another moan.

“I really should apologize.”

The hand enveloped his still hard cock with ease. It was cold and the temperature difference made Arthur squirm, to which Meriwether answered with a kiss to his collarbone. His hand on Arthur’s cock was deliciously wrong, deliciously disgraceful. He had been unmade by these hands before and welcomed them with open legs. Arthur closed his eyes and threw his head back, gasping at the newly-found friction. Meriwether took it as his chance to suck on his neck, to caress the hairs on his nape. It reminded him of some many nights before this whole situation. Arthur knew they had been _part_ of said situation, but the sensuous part of him just welcomed the echo as true. Why should he mind?

 _The hell with it,_ Arthur thought, and turned his face. They kissed and Arthur could almost cry because he missed this, oh _god_ , he missed so much and it was as if he hadn’t been breathing before. He felt he could laugh against those lips. The combination of Meriwether’s tongue on his and his hand on his length proved to be too much because moments after he came with a muffled shout swallowed by Meriwether’s mouth.

He didn’t dare to open his eyes, to utter a single sound. Meriwether’s hand was still in his cock, gently stroking the foreskin. He felt the dampness of the silk on one hand. The stickiness all over his stomach as he struggled to calm his heartbeat, certain that at any second he would be able to feel like he wouldn’t jump out of his skin. He just needed to wait a bit longer, close his eyes to the person still touching him. Awaiting the realization of the betrayal he had committed to himself.

“Do you know why none of the boys touched you?” Meriwether asked in the stillness of the flat “Why you never got your affections returned back at school?”

Arthur still felt the breath of the other man on his lips, taunting in their proximity. Their warm and poisonous qualities. His voice was different, somehow.

“Why no-one approached you at the bar?” Meriwether persisted, dragging his thumb away from Arthur’s prick to the fluid on his stomach “I didn’t have to drive anyone off. I didn’t have to plan that, yet there you were. Alone at the bar. Even your cousin got more attention.”

Meriwether gathered the fluid and led his finger to Arthur’s open mouth.

“Did you ever wonder why you’re so untouchable, Arthur?”

Arthur licked the pad of thumb almost without realizing it. It was something they always did. Why shouldn’t he do it now? He couldn’t quite remember.

“You’re so pathetically desperate. Even now. After all our bad blood, you let me touch you. Such a strong desire to be touched, no wonder you fell into my hands.”

He could feel something break inside him, an alien sensation when all he had felt was numbness or the poorly fulfilled want of it.

“You ache for it. That’s why no-one wants you.”

The pressure on his body was released and Meriwether moved to the bed. He removed something from his pocket and opened the window. The flick of a lighter and then, silence.

Arthur tucked himself in without opening his eyes. He pulled the comforter up but it felt too much like he was choking, cheeks burning against the fabric. Meriwether smoked on, occasionally looking back at Arthur and piercing him with an invisible blade. Arthur still felt the tie wrapped around his hand.

He did not sleep that night. But he did not cry either.

 

* * *

 

 

Their interactions changed over the following days. There were no jokes, no tauntings or any prodding whatsoever. Meriwether started working again in Christmas day, got up early and arrived with food around dinner time, which was somewhere between seven in the afternoon and nine in the evening depending on the day. There was time he did not come back at all and Arthur had to make due with bread and water. There were usually left-overs that Arthur could heat up in the microwave, and if not he'd jump to the market and buy something more consistent than bread. He did not starve nor feel physically ill, even if he was used to eating much more back at Satis House or at school. He did not wane, though he felt lighter than usual and it became easier to feel his ribs. He looked in the mirror and he looked fine, much as that physical frailty irked him. It seemed he was more adaptable that he gave himself credit for. The week after Christmas eve, he did not drink. He saw the seller at the market every time he popped by and could not bring himself to drink the brandy.

Arthur was left alone for the entirety of the day and enjoyed that very much, or gained as much joy in it as he could, taking the circumstances into account. During the night he had to put up with Meriwether's presence just across the room, but during the day he could sleep without a lurking shadow. He called it a reprieve. There would be one time Meriwether would think the silent treatment too boring and he'd either kick him out or resume his torments. Arthur was looking forward to neither, so a plan was formed.

Every day Meriwether would leave him a five pound bill for basic groceries, sometimes more if he wanted fruit or other things. There would be a daily grocery list, much limited as he was. He thought it was Meriwether's way of keeping him busy and preventing another rebellious act. Arthur had to go to the laundry everyday as well because Meriwether had only one suit - albeit a very good one - and he needed it very often, as perfectly pressed as it could be. Arthur guessed it had to do with his business-man like schemes because he did not think he'd use the suit for seducing people. He looked much better in tight sweaters, a thought that made Arthur want to bang his head against the nearest surface.

From Christmas day onwards, Arthur went to the market and bakery as usual, brought back the items in a paper bag and shoved them in their proper places. Every time he did so, there would be change that Meriwether would ask for at the end of the day. From Christmas day onwards, Arthur removed some money.

The first time he did so, his heart had raced through the roof at the usual arrival at eight in the evening. He had continued reading the Civil Code as if absorbed in the book and heard Meriwether drop the keys in the counter, pick up the money and pocket it without a second thought. Arthur had been so relieved he had not even complained with that night's dinner choice - and consequently next day's lunch - of curry and rice. He had found he did not care for it much and it seemed to be Meriwether's favourite, of course. No wonder he had moved to Whitechapel. The abundance of Bangladeshi in the district made it impossible for him not to smell their cuisine whenever he went out.

The second day had been laundry day again, so that meant more money. Arthur removed two pounds that time and Meriwether had repeated his reaction. Arthur wondered just how much money he dealt with in a daily basis that he did not notice even two pounds. Arthur had usually dealt with his credit card as opposed to real money so he did not have much of it with him at any given time. Doing these normal chores and home economics dealings made him feel awkward and inadequate. There had never been a time he had not felt like that, however, and he did not feel too sorry about the encumbrance of these tasks. Now that he had averted some money, he was rather looking forward to them.

When Meriwether told him to buy 'something decent', Arthur had tried to buy the cheapest items he could and save the rest. Meriwether had looked on at Arthur's new sweater and pants, to his three shirts and the underwear he'd bought and had despaired over his fashion choices. Then he'd ask for the receipt and Arthur had been obliged to give him the rest. He had been cheap without any reward.

A week passed and New Years Eve came on. Arthur had managed to gather ten pounds, somehow, without Meriwether noticing it. Thinking about deceiving a con man never failed to give him some satisfaction and it was because of it that he managed to deal with that face every day. That the con man had deceived him first and Arthur had now some sort of victory over him made him gleeful and almost, imperceptibly, but definitely noticeable to Meriwether, smug. He had often told himself it was a family trait, one he could not fight even when struck down by his own folly.

The day he had gathered ten pounds, Meriwether came home to find him getting ready.

"You still have to do the groceries? Honestly, Arthur, don't tell me you've done nothing during the entire day again."

Arthur wanted to snap that there was yet to be a day in which he had not completed his chores but bit back the response, thinking of the money in his pocket.

"I have them done already." he simply replied, finishing lacing up his sneakers.

Meriwether frowned. "Where are you going, then?"

"Out."

"What do you mean, out?" Meriwether asked with some surprise and to Arthur's delight.

"I mean that if you were amenable enough, I'd like to spend New Year's elsewhere."

Meriwether considered him, looked at his clothes, his face, the state of his hair. Arthur had spent over one hour getting ready so he knew he looked good.

"Fine." he finally said, turning away and reaching for the brandy. Arthur cheered internally whilst imagining himself smashing the bottle on Meriwether's face.

He left the flat without really having a guess as to where he'd go. The night was already filled with celebrations and the noise only increased when he left Whitechapel's main area. For the first hour he merely walked along the Thames. He had never seen London in this way. It had nearly been two weeks since he'd been kicked out by his own father and then he'd had to forcefully join the night and the cold with nothing but a suitcase he'd promptly lost. It hadn't been the best way to experience London's night life.

He vaguely recalled Inspector Bucket, promising to the man he'd call him in the morning and tell him how he was. He had lost the number in his ambulations, lost his phone a week ago. He wondered if the policeman had been worried when the call never came. He had certainly been lucky with him, but not with all that had happened since. Alone with his own thoughts back at the flat, he'd obsessed with how things could have gone, how he could have reacted differently to his sister's accusations. How he could have been kinder to her, how people could have been kinder to him.

The great clock chimed and announced eight o'clock. The stores started to close up, last customers straggling in an attempt to make their last purchases of the year. He thought of what had happened, how he had wasted most of it and how he'd go mad if he thought about the last months for too long. His preternatural ability to fuck things up would never cease to amaze him. He'd lost all contacts, all connections, all the money but for the ten pounds he'd been able to scrape from the man that had ruined him _and_ he was alone in New Year's eve, escaping Whitechapel like the Ripper itself was on the loose.

Even fog seemed to gather up around him. The next thing he knew he'd be robbed and stabbed and he'd thank god it wasn't actually Meriwether delivering the final blow.

Desperate and pathetic indeed.

After a full hour had passed of him walking aimlessly and he had mulled over any resolutions he might conjure up for the little hope he had of his situation improving any time soon, he found himself in Limehouse. He remembered the place's name from googling gay bars with his cousin back in October. The thought sent a fresh pang of pain through him. His cousin would be at the Havisham's New Year's Party, a gala that his father threw every year and his sister's favourite. He doubted his absence would be noticed, much less considered, by any of the important guests that usually attended but he hoped his sister would miss him. He hoped she would go to the bathroom and cry, that Honoria would join her and give her some comfort. He hoped his cousin did not show up after all and that he would break ties with the family that had spurned his best friend. He hoped that did not happen at all because, unlike Arthur, the Pockets were kind and welcoming despite their wealth. He hoped there would be some tension between Amelia and Astor, that they would avoid his name like the plague, that he would become the black spot in the family tapestry. He had been born for that, he knew as much. Let him be noteworthy in the Havisham history, even if infamously. Let him stand out as the tarnish in the painting, the tear in the cloth.

He was struck by his own conceit and faltered in his steps. He would be erased from Satis House, he realized. He rested his forehead against the wall, feeling the edge of a brick digging uncomfortably against it. Poor Arthur Havisham, lost and forgotten.

_Pathetic._

He closed his eyes, Meriwether's voice clear as if whispered by his side. He wished for a drink. One glass would not do. He wanted to burn from the inside until he was tar black himself. A void that could not remember.

He looked up and read the name of the street, lit by the nearest lamp. It was familiar, and he knew there would be a bar just around the corner. Unknowingly, he had come to the right place. As he arrived to the place, spending his ten pounds at the door, he found himself alone at the club, he had arrived first, how mortifying. It _was_ rather early, and maybe he should have waited longer before leaving the flat for a walk.

Arthur walked to the bar, surveying his surroundings. It was different from The Three Calamites. Cleaner, darker, bigger. The dance floor alone was twice the size of Silas’. The barman was deinitely prettier and seemed to be a model. Probably an underwear one. And even the Calamites had people arriving at nine o’clock.

“Hello.” the barman greeted. Arthur made an effort to smile.

“Good evening.”

“Can I get you something?”

“Anything but brandy.” he said after a moment’s consideration.

He felt awkward, being in a bar without anyone. The only time he had done so had ended terribly. He had always relied on Meriwether’s help to navigate his way around this world that was so foreign to him.

People did start arriving at ten. Not only men, but also women weaving their way to the bar and asking for the most ridiculous drinks. Arthur’s, a vodka, was long gone along with his money. He waited for something. He didn’t know what.

When eleven struck, the bar was full to the brim. It seemed there would be a countdown, and if Arthur did not feel so sleepy with all the human warmth and smell of booze, he’d be excited too. At around this time in Satis House the party would move to the balcony on the second floor. Amelia would tell him to smile a bit more and Arthur would reply that it was too demanding a task when all people talked about was _business_ and _beer_ and all he wanted was his _bed_. Then Astor would frown across the small gatherings of futile conversations and Arthur would grimace against his will.

He despised himself for missing that, missing the intentional trudging across his presence and the shadow of himself he put on for these celebrations. He hated he could not be himself there and here, at a gay bar in Limehouse. He knew what the problem was, not knowing himself outside of the person he had presented to his family across the years. He felt people his age had already lived so much more than him, whether it was the eighteen year-old Bangladeshi man working two shifts just across the flat Arthur spent the entire day sleeping in or the eighteen year-old woman that walked up and down the street every day with a different boy. He was an inadequate eighteen year-old, as if he had not quite turned eighteen yet. All that had happened made it too clear.

Arthur felt a touch on his shoulder and turned with some brusqueness as he ripped himself from his spiralling thoughts.

“Yes?”

“Good evening.” The stranger replied.

 _Oh god_ , he thought with desperation. Not this again. Not another man at a gay bar. Why did he keep getting into these situations? Why did he attract trouble despite not wanting anything but to be left alone?

He realized he had not replied.

“Evening.”

The man smiled. “Can I offer you a drink?”

Arthur blinked, looking at the very good-looking man. Taller than Arthur and definitely bulkier, he seemed very welcoming. But why would he ask _him_? The last time someone out of his league flirted with him- No, he would not go down that path again. That much he had decided.

“Thanks. A vodka please.”

The man tutted. ”That’s too plain. I have a better idea.”

Then he called the barman and said a weird name Arthur was pretty sure did not originate from a drink. When it came, neon blue, he knew it had not.

The man by his side gave him a smile as he sipped the thing from a straw with some reluctance. He seemed interested. Arthur twirled his tongue around the straw before sipping again. Really interested.

Arthur smiled back, gently closing his eyes. When the man leaned over, hand touching his pulse point briefly, he recalled Meriwether discovering that same spot. He wondered if that had too been something he had shared with someone else before him, another sensorial trap. It hurt that it didn't feel the same, but when the stranger kissed him he felt released from Meriwether for a moment. The beard that rubbed his skin was definitely the antithesis of Meriwether. When they broke the kiss and Arthur opened his eyes, however, he was disappointed not to find a familiar face.

“Let’s go to the loo.”

Arthur smiled slowly in disbelief. “Nah, I’m good. Thanks.”

He made to turn away, but the man’s touch on his wrist made him stop. Arthur looked into eyes. _Oh._ Not that kind of bathroom break then.

“I’m feeling very generous right now,” he whispered against Arthur’s neck “I’ll pay you.”

Arthur froze, heart starting to beat wildly. “There are many guys in the room right now.”

The man brushed his lips on Arthur’s earlobe and licked it. “I really want your mouth around my cock.”

Arthur wanted to laugh. Something inside himself was vacillating between being extremely offended - and he half thought that was the Havisham DNA - and extremely flattered. The man wanted _him_ , out of all the people dancing and rubbing against each other in that bar. He was just a kid who drank too much and hoped not to be picked up and torn apart again.

“Alright.” He heard himself say, blood pumping at the the thought of what he was about to do “How much then?”

The man smiled, hand sliding down Arthur’s neck. “A tenner.”

Arthur _did_ laugh this time. “Not under twenty, surely.”

“You’re lucky you’re pretty.” The man muttered. Arthur felt himself grin and sipped the rest of the drink.

“Alright then?”

“Alright.” He replied, grabbing Arthur by the hand and leading him towards the men’s room. The corridor felt very cold in comparison to the main area, neon blue lights replaced with the unforgiving white overhead bulbs of the rest of the club. His skin buzzed pleasantly with the beat of the music, audible even in the vacuum of the narrow hall.

The bathroom was already taken, from what he could hear from inside the stalls. One, however, was still alone. The man hurried him along and shut the door behind them. Arthur gasped.

“What?”

“A condom!” he exclaimed, feeling a bit ridiculous for not having thought of it before.

The man smiled and retrieved one from the back of his pants. Arthur deflated and tried not to look too much a virgin. He knew he failed, but reached for the man’s front either way. His hands were shaking, but not too noticeably.

Arthur felt the bill being slipped into one of his jeans’ front pockets and giggled in disbelief. He had done this before, why did he feel so nervous? Not for money, yes, but wasn’t this even better?

He kept repeating that to himself as he kneeled on the floor. He opened the man’s pants and pushed him gently towards the wall. He withdrew his length, swallowing in anticipation. He put the condom on and licked.

Arthur Havisham did his New Year’s countdown with another’s man’s cock down his throat. It felt like his best one yet.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, how did you find that, huh? Raise your hand if you think Meriwether Compeyson should have a tie wrapped around his neck!


	4. Blue Pill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur meets a boy. Arthur is confused. Arthur is not desperate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked the last one! This one had a new character I think you guys will recognize from somewhere...

 

A lanky boy with freckles who smelled like lavender.

A burly man with soft lips, lipstick smearing all over Arthur’s face and hair.

A Bangladeshi he knew from Whitechapel, from seeing him in the market, with big earrings and black fitting jeans.

Those were the ones he found at the most expensive bars. Wearing pastels and neons within the same hue. He’d found his place among these fashionless people who knew where the best drinks were served.

They didn’t pay him. Security was too tight in these specific bars for him to be able to flirt _and_ charge _and_ not be caught. So far he’d only been thrown out once, which was lucky because he usually paid too much for an entry that only included _one_ drink. So when he found himself running out of cash, he’d go to his ‘safer’ options, in worse neighbourhoods but with cheaper entries. He’d taken a bit of time to realize it.

"Tell me I'm beautiful." he’d ask them.

"Well, that's rather obvious." they would reply, hand already to his pants.

His mind deceived him at the best of times and replayed the most wonderful memories in the worst. In his mind, they were all Meriwether. Meriwether playing, Meriwether kissing and Meriwether blowing him. Meriwether closing his eye because his lashes looked pretty in the pulsing lights.

He thought at the end of the day he was just choosing the blue pill over the red. Ignorance over pain, numbness from acting out. He’d be meek and quiet and then do whatever he wanted when Meriwether was not looking. They’d both be happier for it.

It was an early February night in his most usual bar. It had been a month since he’d last visited. The clients poured in and out, drifting towards the restrooms and other, more secret divisions. He'd been in one of those before, but opted out when things got a bit too far. Left the man hanging, which had not earned him any thanks. He had returned the money, but had been scared of a beating or worse when the man pushed him onto the wall and walked past. He'd taken a few days before returning and had not seen the man since, much to his relief. He had not considered the dangers of clubbing at first.

He had an initial plan of gathering money that would allow him to move out but even _he_ realized after a week that would be impossible. Having spoken with several guys about the city and the neighbourhood, he had realized just how expensive London was. A couple of them had even done a boycott on the rent and were seriously in trouble with the flats’ owners. All his life he had been financially taken care of and only now he realized just how much he’d been protected to all sort of things - dingy apartments in the East End with the occasional cockroach and leaking pipes being the least of them. He wondered how much Meriwether’s apartment cost, and then frowned.

He was not in a very good mood. Meriwether had made him wait after he had eaten to take care of the dishes and Arthur had not enjoyed it one bit. He'd muttered that he could do those in the morning but had gotten a cold stare in return. He always arrived too early anyway.

Being the first one in the club and being alone was not ideal, but he could neither stand to be in the same room as Meriwether for long neither could he walk around East End alone. He'd been able to save a lot of money on tube rides by walking to the nearest areas. There were nice places in Stepney, Bethnal Green and Bromley. The ones more up north were usually more expensive, but generally had more interesting people. He could call himself an East End gay bar expert now.

He did not blow every guy he met, or kiss them for that matter. Sometimes he just talked. Sometimes he blew them for free. He had started to learn how to read them, how to understand their willingness to pay or not, if they were worth the trouble. Older guys paid whatever he wanted. Younger ones usually did not.

Younger ones were hardest to engage with, not because they were already taken or dancing with someone else - and Arthur had learned how to divert their attention - but because they were _too_ close to his own age. Whenever he spoke to them, the topic of school would eventually arise and it was a subject Arthur could not force himself to discuss. It'd make him think of Pocket and Amelia, of being _five weeks_ late to the beginning of the term and counting. He'd think of drama class and working on set, of rehearsals filled with shrill intonations of sentences that ought to be whispered, of voices roughening by the end of the period. He'd think of literature and remember how he used to read four books per month, sometimes five. How the most he'd read ever since was the Civil Code and he had not been able to get past the first fifty pages.

It was better not to think of school, and ignore it in favour of _partying_ . Even the word was nonsensical. He did not know what he was partying for, for whom or when he should stop. It was one of the few things he had now and he clung to it like he had clung to his mother, to Matthew, to Meriwether. Maybe it would be better to call it _clubbing_.

Such shades of desperation that coloured his steps, bluest as the lights that illuminated the club. He'd hold onto them until he could no more. Until then, he drank.He couldn’t be drunk on poetry or virtue, like Baudelaire suggested, but he might do so on wine. Or whatever he held in his hands, alien-looking as it was.

There was a boy at the stairs that led to the second level. Dark skin, hair so curly it seemed like a cloud. Arthur wanted to drag his hands over it. Before he could move, however, the boy disappeared in the corridor.

Arthur sighed and stared back at his drink. He had wanted that one. When five minutes passed without being approached by any of the older men at the bar, he had concluded it must be his mood driving them off. Knowing that his current energy would be fruitless in any potential approach, he resigned himself to being a wallflower for the rest of the night. He had music, he had this weird cocktail. He had no need of other stimuli to forget the ghost haunting his mind. He decided to dance.

The thing about clubbing and dancing is you don't actually have to be good at either to have a good time. He knew he was awkward and he'd had plenty of cock in the past month. He knew he was a terrible dancer and somehow he'd gotten plenty of dancing partners. It was a matter of going with the flow and not overthinking and worked better when one was slightly inebriated.

He stepped into the middle of a group of people jumping to a song that Arthur had heard in a myriad of different clubs that shared the same simple tune in variations of beats and layers of bass-like noises. He did not know the first thing about music - Amelia being the one with piano lessons - so he really had not trained himself to recognize these sorts of things. He just hopped around and hoped to have someone grind against him.

Not a minute had passed before he had started to dance and he felt the tell-tale touch of an arm against his. Turning around and expecting one of the guys or girls in the group he had invaded, he was surprised to find the curly-haired guy from before.

He momentarily froze, but a second touch made him regain his balance.

"Hi." the stranger greeted, flashing a grin so dazzling that Arthur's breath stuttered for a second. Up this close he could see the stranger had freckles darker than his skin and that his hair's curls were thick and wild. They were also of a very particular colour.

"I like you hair." he blurted out, nearly slapping himself for that one.

The boy simply laughed. "Green's my lucky colour."

Arthur stopped himself before he said it was also his. He'd never forgive himself for something so lame.

They fell silent after that, dancing to the increasing rhythm. Arthur had people bumping into him from every ten seconds and stuttered with every step but the boy did not laugh once. He was a very good dancer and no one seemed to be able to jump into his side despite the great crowd around them. As the endless beat dissolved into a softer song, the stranger put his hand on his hips. Arthur swayed and he might have been a bit too into it because the next thing he knew he was dragging his arms around the stranger's and they became so close he could feel his minty breath. If he opened his mouth, he'd feel it on his throat.

Unlike Meriwether, he was about the same height Arthur was. He looked a bit older, he observed underneath his gaze. More experienced, perhaps. A student. He'd never seen him around before. He told him as much.

"I'm a Londoner but I came back from Yorkshire this week."

Arthur whistled but it came out unheard. "Never been."

"It's rubbish. Miserable weather. Even more miserable people." the stranger said, dragging Arthur closer by the hips. Arthur would not handle it if their groins touched.

"What about you? Never seen you here before."

"I'm from the other side of London."

"Which one? The rich side or the tourist side? Or are those the same?"

"The rich side."

The stranger whistled like Arthur had before. He had heard it. "How fancy. “Hell is empty and all the devils are here.”

Arthur blinked and slowly they came to an halt. He forgot everyone around them.

"That's Shakespeare."

The boy smiled, evidently pleased. "Indeed it is. It is my trade, after all."

Arthur frowned in confusion and the stranger quickly added "I'm an actor.”

He later would admit he did not know what came over himself but as soon as those words left the other's mouth, Arthur closed the distance between the two bodies, mindless of any crotch touching, and kissed the boy as gleefully as he had smiled at him before. When they parted, the stranger leaned back and bit his lip.

"That is not the usual response to people learning I'm an actor."

"What do they usually respond with?"

"We do apologize, sir, but we cannot make a loan." he was quick to reply.

Arthur stared, then blew out a breath in an attempt of controlling himself. Then he laughed for so long there really was no alternative but to leave the club and laugh again. The stranger did not seem offended. He seemed to find his own misery more amusing and Arthur just kept laughing because he could not remember the last time he had done so.

When they did manage to gather some restraint, Arthur dragged the boy from where he rested against the brick wall and kissed him more thoroughly. His lips were definitely softer than Meriwether's and he did not smell of any aftershave. He still smelled minty green and in the moonlight his hair looked like it as well.

"Do you want to go for a walk?" the boy asked, hand resting just underneath Arthur's jaw line. Arthur nodded without really thinking. It was a weekday. Meriwether would be gone early in the morning and he'd have the entire afternoon to sleep off his exhaustion before going out again.

"But first, you must tell me your name. And not a stage name. A real name."

The stranger smiled. "Nick."

"As in Nicholas?"

"Yes. Nicholas Nickleby."

Arthur wondered if the men he kissed _and_ spoke to would always have bizarre names. At least this one had a particular alliteration.

"Are you laughing at my name?"

Arthur refrained a giggle. "No, not at all. Only, mine is very plain, I'm just Arthur."

"No last name?"

"It's not as grandiose as your so it's not even worth mentioning."

"Are you saying I've _outnamed_ you?"

Arthur became serious despite the tremors of laughter running through his shoulders. "That is exactly what I'm saying."

"Ok, Arthur.” Nicholas said, looking at his face earnestly “I'm going to show you the East End."

They walked around for a bit after that, not really noticing the surrounding area. Arthur felt safe enough to follow him, or else he’d gone back to Whitechapel. He knew shortcuts to places Arthur did not think could have shortcuts to. The views were beautiful, London with its nocturnal lights. The conversation was even better.

He learned he had a sister named Kate who worked as a model somewhere in the Soho. That Nicholas lived somewhere in the East End with a flatmate called Smyke who was also his cousin and that there was a long story behind how they’d met when they were unaware of each other’s existence. That, after spending some months as an intern in Yorkshire and seeing that he could do more as a teacher himself, he had decided to do some formation. That he gained some money working as an assistant to a sollicitor in the City, but really what he enjoyed the most was to be an amateur actor. That he actually had come to the club after one of the rehearsals.

Arthur had reeled from that description alone. He had never met anyone so enterprising at such a young age and was a bit overwhelmed by the amount of projects one could get into.

"Don't you get tired?" he asked when Nicholas informed him the play he was doing would be Julius Caesar.

"Of what?"

"Doing so many things!"

The boy blinked as if the thought had never crossed his mind.

"I just do stuff."

Arthur had opened and closed his mouth a few times before finding himself able to continue.

"Well, I must sound very lazy to you then."

Nick smiled and leaned against the railing overlooking the Thames. "You actually haven't said anything at all about yourself. I have been the one rambling about my matters and had denied you speech."

"I could never hope to be as eloquent as yourself. You could probably tell my life story better than myself." Arthur replied, secretly hoping for a retrieve.

"No, that won't make me not want to hear your story." he complained "How about I ask you things and you answer with a nod or a shake? You’ll be ready to play a mime in no time!"

Arthur sighed and leaned as well. He nodded.

"Alright. So. Do you have any sister? Oh you do? Nice. Is she older than you? Ah, she must spoil you then. Mine is younger and really doesn't hear a word of advice from me. Just as well, I personally think they're rubbish. What about school? Do you study? No? How is that possible? How old are you?"

Having just nodded at the right places, Arthur found himself forced to speak at this non-binominal question.

"I dropped out." he muttered, chilly January air starting to get to him. “And I’m eighteen.”

It was Nick's time to look confused.

"I thought you came from the rich side."

"I was _kicked out_ of the rich side." Arthur answered.

"But why?"

"Why do you think?"

There was a pause in which Arthur just glanced at Nick and saw the pity on his expression. He quickly turned away.

"Oh. The gay thing."

That did not cover it at all, but really. Arthur could not share his full story with a stranger he'd met an hour before. He’d probably sound crazy or dangerous with the full version. _I live with the con man that seduced me so he could have my father’s money and then decided to keep me anyway for housekeeping._ He did not think he could ever tell that story.

"Yeah, the gay thing."

The boy stroked Arthur's arm, clearly intending for comfort. He was so attractive. Even through the jacket’s fabric there was an unbelievable amount of warmth. He wondered if everyone ran hotter than himself. Even Meriwether seemed to share that nature.

The thought of the man send a fresh jolt of hurt through him. He wished it to stop.

"Touch me." he demanded. Nick complied, hand rising to Arthur's cheeks.

"I _want_ to touch you." he confessed, breath rising and filling the space between their mouths.

A thrill crossed Arthur's spine, somewhat akin to the first time he and Meriwether had sex. A want that drove him to kiss the boy again without a second thought, pushing him against the iron railing.

"Say that again." he asked, breaking the kiss and trying to discern his expression in the darkness. He dragged his hands down Nick's open jacket and found himself touching his stomach. There was skin beneath and he wanted to reach it as soon as he could.

"I really want to touch you." Nick smiled loopedly "But I think you want something else."

Then he picked Arthur's hands from his body and cradled them in his own.

Arthur blinked, welcoming the reciprocation but confused as what the other meant by it. They had kissed twice already. It usually didn't take as long to get into other men's pants. He had never walked by Thames with any of them either.

"How about we just talk?" Nick suggested. Arthur frowned, suddenly wishing they were under a lamp that could help him figure out the other's expression.

"But we met at the club."

Nick huffed and dragged his thumb across Arthur's wrist. "There are plenty of reason besides sex that lead people to a club."

"There's only one reason for me."

"Don't you like _not_ to feel alone?"

"You mean a _companion_ ?" Arthur asked, perfectly aware of how hopefuç he was sounding. He must sound so needy. _Desperate_. But all he wanted was to touch and be touched back, no downside to it. No debts or threats. No aching.

Arthur was _not_ alone. He had a vulture looking down on him every day to remind him of just that. He dropped his hands.

“I don’t need anyone right now.” he replied, wrapping his arms around himself against the cold.

“Ok.” Nick agreed, seeming confused to the direction the conversation had taken. “But I really did like the talk. Maybe we could agree to meet some other time?”

Arthur nodded. He _had_ liked the conversation. He wanted it to happen again, when he wasn’t feeling so messed up and rejected.

“I have no phone though.” he muttered after a moment.

“No phone!” Nick exclaimed “Don’t tell me that stayed in the rich side!”

Arthur rolled his eyes but depending on the fluctuation of the Thames, it might have done just that.

“It’s complicated.”

“I see you have a very complicated life, Arthur from the rich side.” Nick joked, leaning down and kissing him “But I’m going to give you my number then and it’ll be alright. Just call me from a phone box or something.”

Then they walked back to the club and departed with Arthur’s hand being tickled by a marker for far too long. Nicholas stepped away into the night, hair bouncing with every step. Arthur cursed as he realized he had not gotten to touch it. Looking down at his hand, he was surprised to see something other than the number written down, tiny black letters nearly invisible and running from hand to wrist.

_Parting is such sweet sorrow that I shall say good night till it be morrow._

He’d wobbled back to the flat with a mind stupidly blank and lighter step. He was ridiculous and he knew it. He also did not care, and wanted nothing but to sleep.

When he returned to the flat, it was dawn already. He did not know where the time had gone or how far he had gone with Nicholas but it had been nearly nine hours since he’d stepped out of the flat. For whatever reason, Meriwether was already up and dressed.

“Clean the bathroom.” was Athur’s greeting as he closed the door behind himself.

“If you can afford to come back at these hours, maybe you have enough energy to do your tasks.”

Arthur had obeyed, still elated, and removed the bucket from underneath the sink without a word. What did he care that he had to do such things, when he could have a date that very night with a smart and kind boy?

He cleaned the bathroom in a daze and heard the door open and close. Just as well, at least he wouldn’t be continually picked on. Dumping  the water on the tub, he eyed it for a bit before deciding against a bath. He just wanted to sleep. First, though, he needed to check the money and if he’d be having some money to set aside for himself.

Arthur grabbed the money and counted. He could save a pound from this easily.

Then he cursed and wished a flat surface to bang his head on. The number had been washed off. The fucking number had been washed off. All that romancing and the number had been washed up.

He wobbled towards the bed. He wouldn’t see Nick for the rest of his clubbing days.

 

* * *

 

Arthur build up the courage to ask for a phone during the next days. Whenever he did so, Meriwether’s answer had been an absolute ‘no’. Whenever he did so with a pleading tone, he’d been laughed at. He tried to use reason afterwards.

“What if I get robbed?”

“Then you’ll be robbed of the phone as well.” was Meriwether’s smooth reply. Arthur had not been assuaged.

“What if I’m beaten?”

“You’ll probably be robbed too.”

“But what if it is a life or death situation?”

Meriwether had paused and turned to look at him. “Then, dear Arthur, you’ll be in no position to call me.”

“I never said I’d be calling _you_.”

Meriwether had no reply to that and simply returned to his newspaper. Weekends were the worst.

There was one day in February so cold he had considered not going out. He had fruit and bread from the previous day, all he needed for himself and Meriwether when he came back. Foregoing breakfast for the sake of more sleeping, he had lounged, dazed and daydreamed in bed until three in the afternoon. Then he had munched on something and moved to the couch, dragging the blanket wherever he went. He thought the colder months to be December and January, but nothing had prepared him for the loneliness brought by February.

Just before seven he made the bed, checked for any irregularities, and sunk on the couch again. When Meriwether arrived at eight in the evening all was tidy and clean and irreproachable. The man himself seemed to be anything but as the storm seemed to have chased him even into the elevator. Arthur felt very pleased, warm and dry and well-rested as Meriwether removed his wet clothes with haste onto the floor, making a puddle of them and baring himself without even a ‘hello’. Arthur did not find that strange. There were days they didn’t exchange a single word.

He had never quite managed to downplay the effects that Meriwether’s naked body produced in him, however, and could only maintain his dignity if he managed to hide his face from the man. So he turned towards the back of the couch and pretended to sleep, actually hearing for every shift of the clothes, every breath from the other person in the room. The plates being taken out, food unwrapped and smelling delicious. With his eyes closed, it almost seemed domestic.

“Arthur.” Meriwether eventually called. Arthur made a show of pretending to wake up, streching as far as he could whilst still lying on the couch and yawning loudly. He eventually looked at the man and raised a questioning eyebrow.

“Could you tell me why there is glitter all over the couch?”

“I could.” Arthur replied to Meriwether’s strained face. Then he smiled and proceeded not to say nothing at all.

Meriwether clenched his jaw. Then he looked like he mentally counted to ten before going to the kitchen island. Well, that wouldn’t do. He’d wanted to tell him about the incredible party he’d had just yesterday. He had not washed his hair on purpose and he’d be appreciated for it, Meriwether willing or not.

Picking up the sandwich from the plate, he made sure to chew loudly. Then he filled his glass from the tap and drank greedily. Meriwether had not moved a muscle beyond his own chewing and Arthur was starting to become frustrated. If the man couldn’t even give him a phone, why should he be mindful of the glitter on the couch? He sat down and set his glass on the table.

“You are playing a dangerous game with me.” Meriwether spat, suddenly grabbing him by the collar “There will be a time I won’t find you funny enough.”

Arthur felt his heart beat faster. He was yet to identify if that was due to the fear of what Meriwether might do once he was within his range or the thrill of being so close to him.

“I stopped being funny long ago.” he said as calmly as he could “If you kept me as a pet you’d have kicked me out in December.”

Meriwether was so close their noses were touching. The coiling anger underneath his skin couldn’t be more different from Nicholas’ kindness from a week before and yet there it was, the electricity wherever they touched. He struggled to find his own voice.

“The question is, why _do_ you keep me around?” Arthur hissed “Surely not for my housekeeping skills.”

Meriwether remained silent and Arthur knew he was judging Arthur’s reaction to his touch.

“Don’t go.” Meriwether whispered over his mouth, fingers leaving the collar to caress Arthur’s neck.

His unspeakably tender touch was only undermined by the iron grip on Arthur’s shoulder. When the kiss came, Arthur was not surprised. His heart sung in delight, his skin shivered and his hand flew up to the lapel of Meriwether's coat. When he held him like that, it became difficult for Arthur to recall Meriwether’s faults. This time, however, he felt its brand on his tongue, the reminder on his shoulder. This was manipulation and he had learned to recognize it.

His resolve was done when he pushed away with cautious resistance the body against his. Maybe no-one loved him but he had had people who did like to touch him, who did not think him desperate. Maybe he was losing himself in the drink and the sex. But he had the right to do whatever he wanted. He wanted to do what was right for himself. He would not succumb again.

“Do not presume that I am the thing I was.” he finally said, getting up and looking for his boots.

In five minutes he exited the flat and faced the storm, a far better setting than the one within.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References:
> 
>  
> 
> Blue Pill and Red Pill - Matrix Trilogy  
>  
> 
> “Hell is empty and all the devils are here.”
> 
> \- William Shakespeare, The Tempest
> 
>  
> 
> “You have to be always drunk. That’s all there is to it—it’s the only way. So as not to feel the horrible burden of time that breaks your back and bends you to the earth, you have to be continually drunk.
> 
> But on what? Wine, poetry or virtue, as you wish. But be drunk.
> 
> And if sometimes, on the steps of a palace or the green grass of a ditch, in the mournful solitude of your room, you wake again, drunkenness already diminishing or gone, ask the wind, the wave, the star, the bird, the clock, everything that is flying, everything that is groaning, everything that is rolling, everything that is singing, everything that is speaking. . .ask what time it is and wind, wave, star, bird, clock will answer you: “It is time to be drunk! So as not to be the martyred slaves of time, be drunk, be continually drunk! On wine, on poetry or on virtue as you wish.”
> 
> \- Charles Baudelaire, Be Drunk
> 
>  
> 
> “Good night, good night! parting is such sweet sorrow,
> 
> That I shall say good night till it be morrow.”
> 
> \- William Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet  
>  
> 
> “Presume not that I am the thing I was.”
> 
> \- William Shakespeare, Henry IV, Part 2


	5. Blue Jeans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meriwether wanted his Friday to go as smoothly as possible. Return to the flat, sleep the weekend away and perhaps work from his laptop. Other people would have it another way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't feel sad about Dickensian being cancelled! Just think of the great shots we got of our favourite victorian gay! And if you want to, you can continue the Dickensian mood with me through this fic.  
> There are lots of new characters coming up and something Big will happen too!  
> f not, go and write your own! I'd love to read them!
> 
> \-----
> 
> Content Warning: sexual content, slut shaming, cursing.

The man was in his late thirties at most. The dark circles around his eyes spoke of extra hours in the office, straining over the computer well into the night. The way his hands kept rubbing over invisible creases in the beige pants told him he was nervous to be speaking with Meriwether. They seemed sweaty. Gross. His phone remained pocketed, much to Meriwether’s annoyance. He put on his most dazzling smile and leant against the counter.

“So.” he said, “What do you do?”

The man rattled off some grandiose version of his minor position in one of London’s most important industrial design companies, looking increasingly smug by the second.

“So you, like, design equipment?” he asked at some point.

The man smiled, hands finally stilling and launched into details. Meriwether nodded in the right places, showing teeth when it was most need though it pained him to do so. The man did ask him what Meriwether did for a living at some point and Meriwether replied with his usual answer.

“I’m an insurance consultant.”

The other man blinked, clearly taken aback by the fact that Meriwether probably knew the utter bullshit of what he had just said. Which wasn’t exactly what Meriwether was going for.

“So pretty boring. Compared to what you do, of course.”

The man tried not to seem relieved. He failed, hands flattening over the oversized tie that clashed horribly with the underlying pattern on his jacket.

Meriwether inclined his head and shot a look at the man’s mouth.

“I need to go to the bathroom.”

When he got up, he made sure to brush his hand on the other man’s neck.

It took three minutes for the man to follow him into a stall, face red and erection visible through the light fabric of the pants. They seemed to be very expensive despite their horrid colour, a clear indication that Meriwether had chosen his target well. Letting himself be pushed onto the wall, he endured the breath over his jawline and felt the eager lapping of the man's tongue. Sometimes the work he did really wasn’t worth it. The money paid off, sure, and there was the special vindication of picking up on people’s darkest secrets and vices. But where was his dignity, he wondered as the man tried to kiss him.

So pathetic.

He soon got bored with all the slobber on his cheek so he set a hand on the man's chest and pushed him down. The man was quick to understand and got to his knees, positively salivating when Meriwether unbuckled his belt.

Meriwether leant back and smiled.

When he tucked himself in afterwards, he helped the man up. Pocket thus exposed, he slid his hand the right way and grabbed the phone. There. Easy. And the man looked positively ecstatic. Everybody won. For now.

He left him fussing over the state of his pants, washed his hands and exited the bathroom as quickly as he could. The man would be so dazed he wouldn't remember his phone until Meriwether had done his work.

Checking the messages, he found nothing of relevance. It made sense. The man was an employee of a renowned firm so they would either use an internal messaging system on the company's computers or send e-mails. Moving on to the e-mail inbox - still logged in, of course - he found the latter to be true. This really was too easy.

He forwarded all the messages to one of his e-mails and deleted the corresponding messages in the outbox. When he was done he told the barman the other man had dropped his phone in the bathroom, put his gloves on, and left. There was no use in keeping the thing or throwing it away. Chances were the offended party would report him and he’d get no money.

It was already dark when he found himself back outside. The building he had left - a gay bar that office workers were particularly fond of - had been stifling in its warmth and he welcomed the chill of the night. The neon lights announcing Chinese food or a new play were visibly loud in the nighttime setting. Being in the City meant most of the people he encountered were tourists, cameras flashing at any given opportunity. He did not understand the deal with London, or what they saw in it that made them take photos of every street sign and lamp post. He had lived here his entire life and had not bored himself with it - a feat since his attention tended to stray from shiny object to a shinier one - but he could not understand the deal about the damned clock or the Eye. No one who ever visited Whitechapel wanted to know anything about the area other than the Ripper and its victims. None who visited Westminster looked anyway but up.

Which was fine. Pickpocketing was sometimes a bit fun to indulge in.

He did not think that people understood London at all. London was working two shifts, paying rent with one's last five hundred. Not even bothering to look at the store fronts lest one be depressed with the state of one's wallet. Not looking at the monuments and glossing over the southern bank or forgetting the lower class of the East End. The _hoi polloi_ who worshipped the romantic version of the city as if it could be disassociated in any way with the poverty that infiltrated it even in this new millennia.

But London could be fun too. London was rummaging for bits of work, asking around, stealing from tourists and fucking overly-rich middle-aged men and women. Running the latest scams, making exemplary calls and sending romantic e-mails to people he had never seen in his life. People were so lonely in this big city and needed so much attention a man like him had an easy job.

For a man like himself, London could mean a jolly good time.

He reached the nearest subway station and looked around. He spotted a woman in her late thirties with the worst fashion sense he'd ever seen, a young man with a vest he really needed to find out the brand name and a teenager looking so depressed he'd probably throw himself in front of the train.

He could easily swindle any of them, but chose not to. He had already had his fill for the first two weeks of the month. It was a Friday and he did not feel like doing anything at all. He simply wanted to go to bed and sleep until the next day. Or just return to the dating sites. He'd been pretty prolific in those when he had first started and returning to the basics every now and then was simply keeping proper form.

He felt his phone buzz in his pocket. Picking it up, he was not pleased with the name in the caller ID.

Meriwether sighed, feeling like a very tired man in a very tiresome city. He had thought this little problem over with.

"Sally! How are you?"

"Good evening, Meriwether." she said from the other side of the line. From the catch of her breath, he'd say she was exercising.

"Tell me, how many minutes on the treadmill before you got bored and decided to call me?"

"You are sorely mistaken, darling." she replied in a gleeful tone "I am using the bicycle."

"Of course. It's a Friday after all."

"Indeed. And are you on the subway? It's very noisy over there."

"Unfortunately, I do not have the luxury of a car."

 _Unlike some people_ , he mentally added.

"And I’m so sorry to hear it. Are your schemes finally failing?" she asked. Meriwether heard a beep over the line, perhaps the bicycle indicating the end of the round.

"They are going as smoothly as ever. Why? Are you concerned?"

"Meriwether, I have learnt not to be concerned over any of your insignificant matters."

He smiled. The insult had taken its time. It was usually the opening line of every phone call. It never failed to amuse him because he had grown an extra thick skin around Sally to be offended about any of her attempts at belittling what he did. It equally made him feel the need to strangle the woman.

"Then please tell me all about the motives of this phone call because I know you're a very busy woman and you know I am a very busy man."

"Yes, your business does tend to extend over hours. You certainly have reinforced responsibilities now." she commented with unexpected venom, pausing just as Meriwether entered the carriage.

He turned the phone off when he settled in the overcrowded area. There was no way he was going to answer a call from Sally in a public transport. He never knew what kind of matter she had to discuss with him. It was unusual enough that she contacted him at all. The last time had been in the second week of December and he'd been left at the cafe with an envelope full of money and an imprint of pink on his cheek. He'd been blissfully out of her reach ever since. Whenever she reached out to him something troublesome was invariably involved. He had enough nuisances in his life without her divine intervention. He was going to greet one in about fifteen minutes.

The phone started ringing as soon as he got out on his stop. Sally had probably calculated the trip's time or watched its trip on her laptop, schizophrenic as she was about surveillance.

"Please do not annoy me further." were his first words.

"I won't. Trust me, I do not enjoy talking to you more than you appreciate my company."

"It wouldn't be a hard task." he said.

Meriwether could almost picture her small, curving smile over the phone.

"My, you are very strained. And I bet I know the cause. I bet it’s the reason I’m calling you at all"

Meriwether sighed. "And what would that be, Sally?"

"Arthur Havisham." she finally said.

Meriwether stopped just before Whitechapel Road. He should have known.

"That is none of your business anymore."

"Isn’t it really? A little bird told me he's living with you now."

Meriwether had a very strong opinion about Sally's birds but chose not to offer it at the moment. He was intrigued and wanted to see where this would go.

"That is true.” he admitted, looking around for any birds “I fail to see why you should ask about it."

"And what is the reason behind your sudden cohabitation?" she asked, tone more scathing she had any right to be, especially considering they had lived together once. It had been a terrible period in his life, really. He'd been the one moving out, unable to cope with her habits for any longer. The move had been made with no small deal of sacrifice because her apartment was very spacious, organised and incredibly tasteful and Meriwether missed lounging whenever she was out. She had filled his old room with fitness machines to compensate the loss of his company, something that spoke volumes of the little importance he represented in her life. She was rich and Meriwether would never fail to be bitter about it. He compared her flat to what he had now - a studio with the tiniest bathroom. At least it was his.

All that had been a long time ago but Sally was right in one aspect. He had not lived with anyone else ever since.

"And what is the reason behind your sudden interest in my living arrangements?" he countered.

"We're like family. Must I present a reason when I become concerned with a change in your behaviour?"

"Concerned? Truly?" Meriwether laughed "Well, I feel flattered. Never thought I'd live to see the day, to be honest."

"Meriwether." she said, managing to turn his name into a veiled threat "Why are you still with the boy? The job's over. You got your money. Get over it."

Meriwether considered briefly the past two months. Getting a message from Silas and finding Arthur drinking his sorrows away like the latest sob storyline of Eastenders. Leading him to the flat because much as the boy deserved the consequences of his own folly, there was no way he'd survive in a shelter or on the streets. He had felt some amount of pity and guilt. A change of heart, as others would put it. The true reason had been the _opportunity_. There was much he could do with the boy yet, so he’d taken him in. One impulsive decision and here he was, being lectured by Sally because he had brought a teenager home. He felt eighteen again.

He did have a heart, much as the people he dealt said otherwise. Well, at least _half_ a heart. A quarter of it when he was feeling particularly ruthless and a job just had to be done without the time for pleasantries. He knew what it was like to suddenly be on the streets with nothing but a bag and the clothes one had on. Arthur had been clingy during their dating and insufferably romantic and talkative once he got comfortable enough with Meriwether, but he had been _fun_. Most people he deceived weren't as playful in the sheets as he was. They’d had good times. Considering.

"He isn't too boring and he makes the bed." he eventually answered because that was an accurate description. He didn't even make the bed well or cook or clean properly but there had been some domesticity over their first weeks that he had enjoyed. Of course, then New Year's came around and suddenly the boy was more interested in spending his nights out for whatever reason and coming back smelling like cigarettes and sweat.

At first, he had ignored that rebellion and the ways he had tried to flip him the bird through his actions. But then he had realised - wonder of wonders - that he quite liked to provoke him. Over the final part of January, he had thwarted his attempts as much as he could by kissing him, speaking softly and appealing to the part he knew to be in love with him still. February had played variations of the same melody and even unsuccessful and with the boy slipping through his fingers like quicksand, he enjoyed to watch his escape and then arrival each morning. A night well-spent at a club or a bar and Arthur would return to the flat, an apparition of glitter and unruly hair, like a wild thing he had already tamed and recognised him as his master.

The disembodied cackle startled him. He had let his mind drift over a remembrance of the past months and forgotten the woman altogether.

“What?” he asked, trying to keep his temper in check.

“Meriwether, are you becoming _soft_?”

When Sally set her mind to it, she could transform her voice almost as an actor would. He recognised it because he possessed the same ability himself. The problem lied with the fact that she turned it on _him_. The irritating tone to which she would set her accusations was even more effective than Arthur’s attempts to annoy him. He really had had a long day.

“And you? Are you becoming _lonely_ in that big flat of yours without me keeping you company?” he found himself replying. Then he registered what he had said. And then he realised he could not unsay it. Which was fine because Meriwether Compeyson did not truly regret his actions. He just regretted its consequences.

“Very well.” she said, sounding like a grand judge “You don’t want my advice so I’ll stop badgering you. Just don’t call me when you’re arrested again.”

She turned off the phone without allowing Meriwether a word in. He felt like screaming. Seeing as he was still on the street, he thought better of it and wait until he arrived home.

A delayed five-minute scream is a scary thing composed of frustration and indignation at oneself for conforming to social norms instead of giving into basic instincts. It can also be turned into a throwing contest. Meriwether did none as the first thing he noticed upon his arrival to the flat was that it was empty.

He went to the bathroom, but there was no insolent brat to be dealt with, no spiteful remark to be countered. The bed was in the same state he’d left it, the clothes he had slept with were still on the floor. Nothing seemed to have stirred during the day and the flat seemed stifling. The boy usually came home somewhere between five and seven and slept his day away, Meriwether being able to watch venture into the night. It seemed he had not returned to the flat.

He checked the cupboard for food and found none. Feeling his stomach ache since he had had just a drink at the bar, he decided to get some _Chingri Malai_ from one place he quite liked in Brick Lane. Arthur seemed to prefer that dish over any other he usually brought, so he’d delight in bringing a serving only and eating it in front of him.

When he returned, bag heavy with the takeout and maybe dripping if the neighbour glaring at him by the stairs was anything to judge by, Arthur was already in the flat busying himself with the bed. Meriwether closed the door and the boy jumped.

“Oh!” he exclaimed, then hurrying to explain that he had to go out for the day because he had had things to do and he had managed to do the bed just now. Then looked at the take-out and understood.

“Fuck.” he swore, sitting on the bed with an undignified _oomph_.

Meriwether set the takeout on the kitchen island, noticing that there was indeed a mustard yellow stain on the bottom of the bag. Another task for Arthur. If Meriwether had his way, he’d clean the flat until the place glistened.

The cigarette stench was stronger today, even at this distance. Meriwether found himself thinking that Arthur no longer smelled like chamomile and berated himself for noticing it at all. He set to light himself a cigarette.

“You must have had a very busy day.” he said as a way of greeting.

Arthur did not reply, probably too caught up in whatever he had been doing during the day to come up with an excuse. His hair looked as though it had not been washed for days, his sick was paler than usual. His collarbones peeked from underneath the shirt he had on.

"Any chance of peaceful cohabitation requires both people to do their part." he stated, grabbing the ashtray and sitting down on the couch. He looked at Arthur. The boy had yet to lift his eyes.

"I bring the food and the money, you do the chores." Meriwether continued, nose wrinkling at the combined stench of sweat and other bodily odours.

"I am not being unreasonable. I just want you to do what I told you to do when I want you to do it." he finished, jumping when Arthur stood abruptly and started to pace the flat.

He looked at the boy's closed fists and the awkward stance of his legs. What the devil was wrong with him?

"Well, I don't want to take your orders anymore." Arthur spat, finally allowing a glimpse of his face. There were bags under his bloodshot eyes. But mustn't have cried because his skin was otherwise pale and Arthur flushed in full. The sickly sweet smell suddenly made more sense. The boy was high.

Meriwether leant back and allowed a smile around the cigarette.

"Yes? That's fine by me. Seeing as you don't want to pay rent either, I'd suggest you choose one of the two."

Arthur wavered slightly and Meriwether judged he would probably topple over if he had not grabbed the counter's edge. He looked pathetic and small and painfully a teen.

"Now, which one will it be, Arthur? Money, the mop or the streets? You've spent enough time in those."

Arthur's look hardened and he shoved a hand in his pocket. Meriwether was starting to feel very peckish and if the boy kept up with this game he might give him a morsel just so he would be forced to shut his mouth.

Arthur threw something at Meriwether's general direction. He caught the item with one of his hands, balancing the cigarette in the other, and looked down. A roll of bills, not much but still a significant amount.  He frowned.

"Where did you get this, Arthur?" he asked. If he had stolen it from someone, he needed to know where it came from, who he would possibly have to deal with. Arthur wouldn't make a good thief, of that he was certain. If Meriwether had to clean up after him he would make him clean the flat with his tongue.

Arthur blinked as if not believing his own actions and then squared his shoulders.

"I earned it."

Meriwether laughed.

"The only job you’d qualified to do would be a blowjob, Arthur."

Something very strange happened then. Arthur looked away and all of his stubborn resolve seemed to crumble.

That was not possible. _No way._

Then the boy did something even stranger and _turned_ away. As he reached for the cupboard and removed a glass only to fill it with shaky hands, Meriwether started laughing in earnest. Smoke came out in puffs and he put out the cigarette.

"Oh this is a wonder!" he exclaimed, rolling the bills in his hand "Arthur Havisham, previous partial heir to the Havisham family fortune, bourgeois degenerate and school drop-out. Sucking cock for money."

The grip on the glass tightened considerably and Arthur glared, bent over the table and forgetting the item altogether. His lovely mouth pursed in distaste.

"You may stare at me all you want but it doesn't change the fact that you've been whoring yourself for the last two months."

Arthur flashed a smile and for a moment Meriwether was taken aback. A new form of retaliation? He was very interested in whatever the boy had to say in his defence.

"Meriwether Compeyson." he said, holding himself high and looking very much like the Arthur he used to pick up from cafés or meet at Regent's Park. Still somewhat composed and dignified. Meriwether found that very amusing, considering the circumstances of his affirmation. His performance was enticing.

"What about you? Expert con man. Playboy with brains.” he paused, daring to even arch an eyebrow “Professional slut."

Meriwether leapt from the couch and crossed the distance between them. This had gone quite far enough. The boy needed to be put back in his place.

"What do you know about sex and money?" he asked, feeling the catch in Arthur’s breath inches away from his mouth "Of depending on that to survive? Do you believe that going out every night in search of the wrong kind of attention gives you the right to judge what I do? You're nothing but a spoiled teenager who found out he liked cock."

"Oh yeah?” Arthur spat, not backing down. “And I should be so fucking thankful to you for it, shouldn’t I?”

Meriwether felt his own pulse quicken with adrenaline.

"You really fucking should. It's just as well that your mouth is otherwise occupied." he tutted "All those embarrassing noises. Your moans are so decadent, you really should consider charging extra."

Arthur clenched his jaw, eyes blinking to the brink of tears. Impressively contained but not Meriwether’s goal.

"It seems you've gained your balls after sucking so many." he commented.

Meriwether could feel the texture of Arthur's damned coat, standing so close as they were. The heat that came from his body betrayed the ball of nervous energy inside the boy. A single angry tear rolled downwards and Meriwether felt the irrational desire to lick it.

"I wish I had never accepted your drink!" the boy exclaimed, eyes boring holes into his “I wish you had never set your eyes on my family’s money. I wish you would have kept your grubby little paws to yourself. I wish you had never touched me!

At this point he stopped, chest heaving as if undergoing great physical duress. Arthur shook like a leaf but at the moment, anger seemed to be stronger than any fear or restraint.

“You said I’m spoiled. _You_ spoiled me!"

If he wanted to, he could shove him to the floor or the bed and spoil him some more. He’d probably shut up then. If he wanted, he could make him see that Meriwether was the safer option for a boy with his state of affairs. It would only take a kind word, perhaps a lie and a kiss. He was certain he would not be denied a second time. This was so difficult. Why was the boy so intent in complicating things? He had been quiet so far. Why did he try to annoy him so much? His hands itched for Arthur’s neck.

"You’re a lot of trouble.” he eventually replied, “I wish I had fucked your sister instead."

Feeling a burst of heat on his cheeks that matched the ache on his hands, he was surprised when it was replaced with pain. He looked at the boy before him, hand still raised and fingers splayed.

Arthur had slapped him.

He led his hand to his cheek, feeling the warmth and knowing it would leave its mark. It had been a powerful hit. Meriwether did not know who was more surprised about it, him or the boy. They stood in bewildered stupor for a few moments, neither able to speak.

The tense silence of the flat was broken when Arthur startled out of his trance. He covered his mouth with both hands and stared fixedly at the contact point. Then he started to whimper.

“Oh my god.” he gasped “I’m so sorry. I did not...I am so sorry.”

Meriwether set a foot forward, causing Arthur to jump and lift his arms above his head. Crossed over with such ineffectiveness, Meriwether could easily strike him. He could hit his side, drag him to the floor and kick him. He could grab his arms and spin him around. Pick him by the hair and lead him to the bed. Tie him there and spank him. He could make that body his again through force. He could do whatever he wanted because he had the power here. Not the poor, whimpering thing before him.

“Get out.”

Arthur looked up, unwilling to let his guard down. His eyes were widened in fear and anger. Self-preservation was still present and the boy was yet to lower his arms. Meriwether wanted to hit him, to bite that smile off and fuck the defiance out of him. He also wanted to kiss his mouth thoroughly.

“I said GET OUT!”

The boy scuttled off with a speed he never showed when he told him to wash the dishes or to clean the bathroom. Then he vanished, slamming the flat’s door.

Meriwether breathed in and out as slowly as he could, willing his heart to calm down. Funny how he could remain so impassive under the strain of blackmailing someone or leading a company member on but reacted this way about a little domestic. He should know better.

When he did manage to cool down, he felt the stiffness in his pants and cursed. The boy had been awfully close and it had been a long day and he could still feel Arthur’s hand on his cheek. The atrocious smell of cigarettes that were not his nor Arthur’s permeated the flat with its insidiousness. He thought about the shape of another man’s hands covering the boy’s body, his smell being breathed in by Arthur.

He had had sex twice the past month and it was driving him insane. He had hoped to convince the boy that since he had already fallen, getting a step lower would come at no cost. But Meriwether had persisted and Arthur had resisted and Meriwether was frustrated beyond any sense of self. His hand slid underneath blue jeans.

When he touched himself, back against the wall, it was with no sense of guilt. He was furious with Arthur and himself and that only made him grow harder. His hand quickened with the urgency of release and the want of sleep, stomach already forgotten. When he came, he realised he was more at a loss about Sally’s question than he knew. What _was_ he doing with the boy?

He looked back at the empty sofa, at the half-made bed and the forgotten glass.

_Just as well._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References:
> 
> Hoi Polloi - Greek expression for “the many”, or the majority. In English, depreciative connotation for the working class, the commoners.  
> Chingri Malai Curry - Typical Bangladeshi dish. The main ingredients are prawns and coconut milk, along with ghee or mustard oil, onions, turmeric powder, chopped green chilli, garlic paste, and ginger paste flavoured with spices.  
> Source - Wikipedia (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chingri_malai_curry)


	6. Blue Peacoat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meriwether was not worried. He simply wasn’t.
> 
> The fact that it was his sixth cigarette of the day and it wasn’t even noon was simply a reflection of the stress his line of work usually brought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you have enjoyed the other chapter and that Meriwether's POV isn't too rough on you (though it certainly is on me).

Meriwether was _not_ worried. He simply wasn’t.

The fact that it was his sixth cigarette of the day and it wasn’t even noon was simply a reflection of the stress his line of work usually brought. He worked really hard to have some semblance of what he called his ‘luxury periods’, where he’d just stop - or attempt to because tricking people was addicting - and enjoy life for a little bit. Drinking, having sex and loitering. What he usually did but with a far more _flanêur_ intention to it. That is to say, no intention at all. It made him feel twenty again, already a crook but an aimless one. Now he had to pay rent and buy food, generally exhausting stuff that made him crave for a bit of chaos.

He is _not worried_ , damned be the boy and twice damned his insolence.

Meriwether flicked the cigarette to the ground and watched the orange glow change. He put it out with the point of his shoe and blew out the remaining smoke.

It was a Wednesday. Arthur had left last Friday night with a flurry of glitter and fearful energy and he had not seen him since.

To be honest, he had not made a big deal of it at first. He had regarded the weekend away as yet another form of defiance, as Arthur simply spending his time blowing guys, maybe following them home. Maybe he had started to roam the streets in hope of bigger cash to replace the one he had left on Meriwether’s hands. He did not care. Maybe he’d gain some sense and crawl back in the end. Arthur Havisham was a weakling so attached to Meriwether it was surprising that he had managed to spend the weekend away at all. No, he’d come home with an empty stomach and eyes full of tears and Meriwether would get to finish their conversation. He’d tell him just who held the power and why it would be harmful for Arthur to have it any other way. He would say that no offense was done but Arthur must _understand_ why it had to be this way. That Meriwether had been incredibly kind to him and Arthur had been ungrateful. That he was ignorant of the ways of the world and that is why he did not understand that Meriwether did what he did because it was necessary. That he needed to teach Arthur that people did not have things their way.

And then he’d continue with his line of reasoning and Arthur would cry and nod. Then Meriwether would get curry and Arthur would shut up. And then things would continue on.

He had spent the weekend replaying imaginary conversations in his head and ended up doing nothing useful at all. He hated himself for allowing Arthur to occupy such a great part of his mind and he wondered if that had something to do with Sally and her continual prodding and insinuation.

When he returned to the flat in the following Monday night and his bed was still unmade, clothes still scattered and no sign of a messy boy, Meriwether understood.

It was a Wednesday and Arthur had been missing for five days.

That very same morning he had prepared to leave for an early meeting in Soho with a potential blackmail target and his gaze had lingered on the empty couch. He’d left and the silence seemed too loud. It had never gotten this quiet before. His attention kept drifting back to it whilst the woman spoke, biting her mouth in interest and a sort of precocious adoration Meriwether had decided wasn’t worth the trouble.

He ended the meeting within thirty minutes using his own cover as an excuse - _I am sorry, but I find our association would not prove sufficient in your services demand_. Which was just as true within the business context as in his true intention. Its translation would shut doors Meriwether would prefer remain open.

He had nothing to do for the rest of the day as most of his matters had already been taken care of earlier in the week. Seeing as he was in the Soho, he could go to the market and buy something for himself. He could escape the crowds and go for a walk in St. James Park, maybe chat up someone willing to be fooled. He was free and yet his mind was arrested by a single thought. Arthur was gone and he could dismiss it and carry on as if he had not entered his life at all but if there was anything he was bad at, it would be to let a subject drop.

The boy had done something to him.

He looked on at the wretchedness of Arthur’s situation and his major part in it and he felt pride. He had played his cards well, performed his services perfectly and had obtained a lot of money in the process. He knew why he was reacting this way. What made him falter for the first time in a considerable amount of years was _pity_ , of all the most useless sentiments. He did not understand why it was pity that stopped him now when it had been his patience the most tested of his faculties. Sally was right. He _was_ getting soft.

Feeling like he was betraying himself, he dialed the number of the beast. She picked up after five rings. He thought she might have waited for another one.

"I wasn't going to answer the call." said the woman on the other side "But then I thought, Meriwether would only call if he was in deep shit."

"And you thought you might as well laugh at me." Meriwether offered.

"Of course." she confessed, mirth lining her voice "But please, do hurry in your report. I have an appointment in ten."

"Sally." he said, weighing his words carefully before speaking because the last time he had not done so had been about the same subject of this very call and Sally had parted with some strong promises. And Sally always kept her promises.

"Arthur's missing."

He was expecting the chilly laugh that followed but it did not fail to make him want to reach across the phone and wipe the smug smile from her face.

"Missing, Meriwether?" she asked in mock surprise "Did he get lost in Whitechapel? Was making your bed too depressing a thought for him? I cannot say I do not understand his protest. You were always a messy one."

"Yeah, laugh all you want. He's missing, gone I don't know where and I would like to. Know, I mean."

He was clearly trying to endear her to his situation and it sounded needy even to his own ears. He nearly groaned with the absurdity of a con man vouching for his own victim. Every other crooked man in London would laugh at him if they knew.

"And why are you calling me, dear Meriwether?"

"You know why. You find people when they do not want to be found. I think Arthur doesn't want to be found."

“Then don't find him and give his things to the poor or whatever you have the urge to do in your newfound humanitarian attitude. You know he doesn’t have any money left, don’t you?"

"Fuck off." he told her without quite meaning to. She just managed to rip the words out of him.

"That's basically what you told me last Friday when I offered my opinion and I recall saying it back. Did you think I would forget about your comments?"

Meriwether could hope.

"No, Meriwether. You got into this mess. Solve it or escape it as you will. I don't care."

Then she ended the call and Meriwether was left swallowing the bitterness of his own making. The day he had hoped to get something from Sally had come with its expected results. He had to be resourceful now.

Thankfully, the invention of resources was a specialty of his.

He wouldn’t go to Silas’ pub. Arthur would never return there, not if the memories of being picked up by him and getting in a drunken stupor were still vibrant in his head. He did not know, however, where the boy would feel safe. Perhaps Pocket, but he lived far away in Sutton. Arthur had no money when he left the flat and would remain the same if he had not found other clients to purchase his services. Meriwether thought that having spent the whole day away even at his age would prove too much for further rounds. No, he'd probably gone somewhere. He wouldn't stay in Whitechapel.

The proximity of Mayfair was an ever growing pain on the back of his head. Just fifteen minutes away from where he stood, close enough that he could smell the wealth that had lured him to Arthur in the first place. He wondered and mused and nearly turned on his heel to return to the East End. When he started walking again after spending too long in the bend of the street, he had already decided.

A short stretch and he finally stood in front of the familiar door, carefully watching for any movement that would indicate the elder Havisham's presence from across the street. In his five minute watched he saw two police officers. This was a bad idea. Even worse than keeping Arthur, and Meriwether was known for his impulsive decisions. Standing in front of the historical house that looked more like a museum than a private premise, he tried not to think of the amount of bad decisions Arthur had made him take in the last months alone.

He knocked and soon enough the door opened, the maid behind it going slightly pale at the sight of Meriwether. He knew her, or he thought he did. Maybe it had been the same one that he had met back in December.

"Hello." he greeted, a bit put off by her silence.

The maid's grip on the wood tightened enough for her knuckles to go white. Her eyebrows were knitted together and Meriwether recognized the containing of rage in the curve of her mouth. If propriety and a sense of station did not hold her, she would probably have very strong words for him.

"Is anyone home?" he asked, trying to get a sound from the maid. She did not deign to reply to him but shut the door quietly.

Meriwether frowned, unsure to what she was up to. He thought answering the door with a minimum of pleasantries was just what they hired maids to do. Even considering the circumstances.

It did not take long for the door to open again and he was just about to say what he had in mind about the maid's rudeness when he noticed who it was that greeted him now.

"Good afternoon, Honoria."

Honoria looked at him and she seemed more composed than the woman before. She appeared a bit worse for wear, hair gathered in an unkempt braid, baggy woolen sweater worn over puce sweatpants. He must have made a face because she breathed in slowly and took a step forward. Meriwether opened his mouth to explain why he was at her doorstep when the woman pulled her arm backwards, gained momentum and punched him on the left side of his face.

He reeled, surprised by the unexpected strength and scrambled backwards, nearly falling down the steps in the process.

Holding on to the metal railing, he gingerly cupped the offended cheek and let out a small whine. He had considered this outcome. He might have underestimated it.

"Ok, I deserved that one."

"If my hand did not hurt so much I'd punch you again." Honoria snarled, gripping the punching hand within the other. He appreciated the courtesy. He had been hit twice in the same week and would be glad to maintain the ratio. He did not feel particularly affronted by those small acts of revenge as a rule, but his face needed time to heal. People tended not to trust a main with a bruised cheek.

"I hope you do not because I might have something you want to hear."

"Is it a secret or a lie? You're great at both."

Meriwether ignored the little spark of satisfaction at the comment. It _was_ nice, hearing people involved with his schemes complimenting him on them. It happened more often than one would think.

“It is neither. Is… Havisham senior home?”

Honoria shook her head. “Thankfully he is not or I’d ask him to call the police.”

Meriwether stopped himself before telling her it’d be a stupid thing to do.

“Why don’t _you_ call them?” he asked her “You don’t need the master of the house to do that. Or are you curious about what I have to say?”

Honoria did not answer and he allowed a smile. “I knew you were a clever one.”

“Say whatever you have to say or I _will_ scream.” Honoria told him, arms crossing over her chest and leaning against the door frame. The maid hovered in the background as if she was able to provide for some protection via aural transmission.

“Arthur is missing.”

Honoria blinked and slowly uncrossed her arms “What do you mean, Arthur is missing? I thought he was living with you. Strange as that is in itself.”

Meriwether narrowed his eyes. He had thought the boy cut off from his previous world, apparently having lost his phone in December. “Who told you that?”

“Amelia. She met him after…”

Honoria stopped and looked at him in a way that made him shrivel up. “You know.”

“I did not know that he had spoken with Amelia.” he admitted. He could understand now why the boy had thought living with him was the only option. Falling out with one’s sister could be problematic, even more so with Arthur’s inability to figure things out for himself. Of course Arthur had managed to fuck that up.

“And she told you what happened?” he added, hoping that he would not be hit again.

Honoria flushed. “She told me enough.”

Meriwether found that very thoughtful, not sharing the details of her brother’s defiling. He wondered if the sister had seen the photo itself. That would be mortifying for poor Arthur. The situation had been explained to Amelia through whose words, Arthur’s or his father’s? Either would probably fail to encompass the entire situation.

“So, is Amelia home?”

“No, she’s in America. Why?”

“I thought she might know where her brother is.” he explained, then remembering the reason he had come to Satis House in the first place “He is not inside, is he? That would save a lot of work.”

“Much as I would like it, he is not. I haven’t seen him since the weekend you were here as well. You know, the one you used to steal and muck things up.”

“I do recall that.” he mused, distinctly aware that he was not making it harder for another blow to come his way.

She seemed to grow even more serious and he found that it suited her.

“You’re the worst human being I have ever encountered in my life.”

“You must not have met many men then.” Meriwether said, trying to refocus the conversation “Will you help me find him?”

Honoria sighed heavily and looked at the sky for a great amount of time as if looking for the answer to the situation. He personally never used that tactic because it failed from the go. He could never stay still for long. When she turned back to the eavesdropping maid, she did not make any attempt at pretending not to be doing exactly that.

“Mary, I am going to go with Mr Compeyson here and I’ll be gone for a bit. If I don’t come back before midnight, call the police.”

Meriwether opened his hands wide to show how inoffensive his current and overall state was. “I am a blackmailer, not a murderer.”

The maid handed Honoria a coat from the rack in the hall and managed to look menacing whilst doing it. Meriwether secretly thought the measure very wise so he did not complain. Honoria turned around and lifted an eyebrow. When the maid shut the door behind them, she stepped forward and beckoned him to follow her.

“Do you know any of his usual places?”

“I do,” she replied enigmatically. Meriwether sighed. This was going to be a long day.

They passed the tall, well-kept buildings of Mayfair, immaculate in their privilege and looking very expensive in general. There were no clothes hanging from balconies or windows. Eventually they reached a park with small groups of people milling about, talking and doing a version of a February picnic that he found ridiculous and uncomfortable. The iron railings made it impossible for someone to cross it without gathering attention to themselves.

“So…”he said after a few tense moments ”How have you been doing?”

Honoria threw him a look. “I’m not going to exchange pleasantries.”

Ok, tense silence. He could do that. It would be no worse than a conversation with Sally. They headed southwards through the packing streets. He could not remember Arthur mentioning any important sites, but Honoria had met him longer. Maybe a library, a coffee shop. A friend who lived nearby that he had never mentioned to Meriwether. He knew the rich were prolific in their relations to other rich. Never fostering deep relationships but trying to bathe in each other’s glow of wealth.

“I keep eating bread,” she admitted after a couple of minutes of Meriwether trailing silently behind her. “ And cake. And ice cream.”

“That’s...awful?” he tried, waiting for another item on her list and feeling a bit at a loss about the meaning of the words themselves.

“The tension at the house is terrible. Mr Havisham isn’t on speaking terms with Amelia and neither of them say Arthur’s name. Amelia is mad at me because of you.”

Meriwether frowned. He could not remember doing anything entailing the sister but as soon as he opened his mouth to speak Honoria cut him off.

“I tried to warn Arthur. I tried to warn him after you threatened me, and I tried to do the right thing. I told myself I only needed to wait for another weekend to explain it to him. But you moved too fast.”

Meriwether remembered a mention of a Sherlock Holmes story during an early morning and dragging Arthur back to bed in an attempt to confuse him about something whose meaning he had not gathered himself.

“I’m afraid you were a bit too cryptic.” he commented, going unheard by the girl who trudged on with her account.

“Then they met and Amelia came home asking about why I did not tell her anything about Arthur and a photo of you two.”

Meriwether cringed. No wonder the boy had taken to drinking.

“I told her I knew what you were, but not about the photo.”

“Well, that was stupid. You could have said that Arthur had lied and Amelia would have believed you.”

Honoria spun around and faced him with a furious glint in her eye. She would have been more terrifying if she did not stand so much lower than him.

“I’m not a coward or an expert of deceit like you. I might have folded when you threatened me with exposure, but I would _never_ lie to Amelia.”

“And yet here we are. You’re so out of her favour you can’t even call her to say her brother’s missing.”

Sometimes he wondered at the ramifications of his actions and how the most curious things happened out of a single decision, bad or otherwise. Honoria did not look too agitated by his remark, so he pushed.

“You know, all this could have been avoided if you had told Arthur.”

Honoria let out a bitter laugh. “No, you had already gone too deep. He wouldn’t have listened.” she paused and looked him up and down “Not in front of you. He was bewitched.”

She had a point. Arthur would have vouched for his moral integrity even if Meriwether had told him what he did for a living. Love excused so much that the eyes saw as if a cloth had been laid over them. He decided to change tactic.

“It wouldn’t have been a convenient arrangement to have your secret revealed either.”

“Do you want to get slapped again or are we going to try to find Arthur?”

He shut his mouth and she glared at him a bit more before turning right on a corner. The area was packed with people and he understood why as soon as he spotted Honoria’s intended building.

“No.” he said, starting to turn around. Honoria grabbed him forcefully by the arm and the most peculiar picture of her and Arthur’s sister playing tug-of-war crossed his mind. He hissed.

“I am not going to the police.”

“Yes you are because we alone will never be able to find Arthur in London.”

Meriwether wanted to bite back that he could do that himself if she did not insist on putting Arthur’s face on MISSING boards across the country. Something that would probably be more counter-productive than raking the boroughs in search of a gay eighteen-year-old who drew attention to himself by continuously fucking things up. He’d probably be in a den or something.

“Look, “ Honoria said, twisting his arm “I don’t know what kind of deal you and Arthur have or why you’re the one searching for him of all people. I know he’s living with you and yes, I do find that weird and fucked up but that does not meanItrust you with his well-being. I may not like him terribly, but he’s Amelia’s brother.” she paused and looked him straight in the eye “I don’t know what you’re going to do once you find him.”

Oh, so that was the reason she was helping him. And here he was thinking it might have been pity as well.

“I don’t think Arthur is going to be fooled twice by the same person. Even _he_ is not so naïve.”

Honoria smiled. “There are many ways to fool people. I am sure you know plenty.”

Meriwether wanted to pat her on the back. She was appealing to his vanity and dishonesty and it worked. She would make a good con woman. He was convinced.

“I’m not giving my name.”

“Of course.” she agreed, releasing his hand and stepping up to the police station’s front. She held the door open.

“Gentleman first.”

Meriwether walked into the building and inhaled deeply. The scent of coppers was disturbing to his sensibilities. The smell of sweaty uniforms and synthetic batons was one he did not feel delight in reacquainting himself to. In fact, he had sworn off any police force contact a few years ago. He couldn’t even bare to bribe the damned creatures either. To say that he walked with trepidation would be an understatement and Honoria had clearly noticed that, strutting very pleased by his side as if her friend’s brother had not gone missing.

When they got to the front desk there was no-one. No people filing complaints or officers taking them. It was surreal. All the police stations he’d ever visited had been busy things. But that had been on the other side of the city. Meriwether looked at the adjoining corridor and managed to spot an open door. A man exited after a few seconds and looked at the two of them as if they were not supposed to be there. Meriwether seconded that opinion.

“I am afraid we’re a bit sparse on staff right now.” the man said, drawing closer “I don’t usually do this sort of work.” he finished, seeming to encompass the entirety of the police station.

Meriwether noticed the badge. The epaulette insignia had an SC, a crown and three bars. A Special Constable, and a chief inspector at it? It _was_ somewhat unusual but not unheard of. That the man seemed a bit too old to be a Special was but a factor that added to his overall impression of the waning police force.

He greeted the man and let Honoria speak.

“Good afternoon. I am here to report a missing person.”

The man furrowed his eyebrows. “Oh, I see. Can you tell me the place where he was last seen?”

“Whitechapel.” Meriwether said because Honoria did not know that. He just hoped he did not have to move at the end of all this.

The man hummed. “So why did you not file the report there?”

Honoria was quick to answer. “He’s from Mayfair and we thought he might be in the area. Despite going missing from Whitechapel.”

The inspector nodded. “Can you tell me what he was doing in Whitechapel and who was the last person to see him?”

“I was.” Meriwether spoke, trying to gather an excuse as to why a rich kid from the West End would be loitering in Whitechapel. “And he was just...visiting the tower of London in a holiday. You know how these people are.”

The man blinked. “These people, sir? What people?”

“The rich people.”

“The rich people.” the man repeated. He had yet to smile. “So he’s rich?”

“A bit.” he heard himself say. God, why was he being an idiot?

“So your rich friend went on a holiday to the Tower of London and got lost in the process.”

Meriwether nodded and felt like the floor would give up under the weight of his spontaneous absurdity. It was not his fault, policemen made him nervous.

The man sighed. “How long has he been missing?”

“Five days.” he answered, making the inspector’s eyebrows rise. He looked at Honoria but she looked amused above other all else. He swore to never be a good person again in his life, that much he swore. It did not pay off and people mocked him.

“Why did you not file a missing person report, sir?” he asked, sounding as judgemental as Sally had during that phone call. The things he suffered when he tried to be helpful.

“I thought he was just spending some days away.” Meriwether replied, noticing that even Honoria was starting to seem restless.

“Is this normal?”

“A bit.” Honoria answered “He sometimes spends a weekend with a friend who lives in that area.”

“Then where does this friend live?”

Meriwether hesitated. He did not want anyone related to the police knowing where he lived. Who knew what sort of thing they would do to his flat, rummaging for clues and finding other crimes? Honoria said nothing as well, aware that she had been caught. Their lies had tangled somehow. If he had been spending the weekend with the friend, he wouldn’t have been lost at the Tower. If he had been with a friend, the friend would have come and not two people. The inspector seemed to notice and he set the paper down.

“I cannot file the report if you do not tell me where he was truly supposed to be in the first place.”

Meriwether thought that was only sensible and expected but also impossible for him to give an answer.

“He went missing from the Whitechapel area.” he repeated, finding purchase in the desk.

“You should have contacted the local officers.” the inspector repeated as well.

“I know I should!” Meriwether shouted, without quite meaning to. He took a deep breath to calm himself down. “Please. Just...just help us find him.”

He paused and looked at the inspector’s expression. He realized he had yet to open a file in the computer or to write anything down. He had noticed something from the start that had made him suspect a more peculiar situation. Meriwether knew it had to do with himself. Something about his scoundrel eyes. People in the force usually looked out for that and deflected entire investigations because of it.

“Maybe you could tell us if there has been an accident, or another report. Maybe it’d fit his description.”

Honoria hovered behind him, clearly eager to get a word in. Meriwether ignored her in favor of the inspector himself, who seemed conflicted.

“I cannot do that and even if I did you did not give me his description.” the inspector said, looking meaningfully at the two and then heading off to the corridor he had come from. He beckoned them to follow him. He noticed there were no cameras in that area. Oh. Good.

“Thank you, inspector…” he struggled for the name, noticing only then the identification under the badge “Bucket.”

“You’re welcome but I am not doing anything.” the man replied. Meriwether nodded and observed the room they had entered. Very messy, even an inspector. The desk looked well-organized though. This was a man that had a lot to do but could only do so much at a time.

“He’s blond, a bit shorter than myself.” Meriwether explained, trying to recall Arthur’s outfit. It tended not to vary a lot. “He was wearing a blue Burberry peacoat with regular jeans and a black shirt.”

“A lot shorter.” Honoria interjected, setting her hands on the desk and leaning forwards as if trying to get a glimpse of what was behind the screen. Meriwether had reached the brilliant conclusion that it wasn’t Arthur missing that was a lot of fun for her, but that Meriwether’s suffering.

The policeman typed something in, eyes raking the screen with sufficient haste. At least he was helping them. Most would have forced them to file the report or tell them to get lost.

“You still haven’t told me his name either.” he said after a few minutes of browsing.

“Havisham. Arthur Havisham.”

A very peculiar expression crossed the man’s face. He lifted a finger then, brows furrowing as if trying to recall something and looked away from the screen. A few moments passed with Honoria and Meriwether standing awkwardly in the background at loss to what to do but dependent on whatever the inspector seemed to recall. They jumped when he let out a startling triumphal cry.

“I seem to find myself in a conundrum.” he admitted, turning toward them again with a far more serious expression. “It happens that I know that person.”

Meriwether found it difficult for Arthur to be arrested on the other side of London when he currently resided in the East. Maybe it had to do with something previous to his Whitechapel period. He couldn’t picture Arthur escaping Satis House only to pilfer something from Selfridges or trespassing in Belgravia. Maybe he had once stolen a book.

“I’m sorry, but _how_ do you know him?”

“He came here just before Christmas. He had been brought here because he assaulted an ATM.”

Meriwether blinked. That was not what he had expected.

“Assaulted as in…?”

“As in kicked it when apparently his account access had been denied.” Inspector Bucket shook his head “That really happens too often around here.”

“Then why were not the charges taken?”

“How do you know that?”

“I was with him that night. Afterwards.” he replied truthfully. He knew that had probably been the day he had been kicked out of the house. That Arthur had remembered to take some money - despite being frustrated in the end - was something worthy of note.

Inspector Bucket rose from the chair. “Do you mean you were the friend he was going to stay at?”

Meriwether found it very strange that a police inspector of all people would care about such details, but nodded anyway. He was sure that Arthur had not planned to come to him that night, but it would be more advantageous that the officer thought so. Maybe it would dispel any lingering doubt regarding his concern for Arthur’s whereabouts.

The inspector sighed in clear relief. “He looked so desperate I was afraid he would go somewhere and get drunk.”

Meriwether did not mean to laugh, but laugh he did only to get a curious look from the inspector. He simply apologized and coughed.

“But do enlighten me. He had my number but he did not call.”

“I’m afraid he lost his phone.” Meriwether replied. A few days afterwards, but he truly did not know anything about a phone number.

“Can you help us or not?” asked Honoria, looking so pleading that Meriwether thought she could be good at deception, if she so chose.

The inspector hesitated but nodded anyway. “That boy needs some help.”

Meriwether thought that was an understatement, but welcomed the concern. A con man, a tailor’s apprentice and a policeman. The unlikely acquaintances of Arthur Havisham teaming up together.  The inspector conjured a phone from the depths of a side drawer and scrolled through his contacts. When he dialed, it took but a ring for the call to be picked up.

“Hello.” the inspector greeted, closing his eyes and breathing deeply. He heard the reply from the other side and frowned.

“No, you villain. I don’t think the police force is needy of any sort of assistance that is not legal.” he stopped and listened to what the other had to say, face growing more stern by the moment.

“You’re lucky you’re so young or I would have gone for the Shoreditch place. Yes, I do know where it is. No, I don’t think anyone particularly cares if you’re doing no harm but you must know it _is_ illegal and I should report you.” he paused for a bit “No, I won’t.”

Meriwether side-eyed Honoria and she looked back with equal confusion. Just what sort of inspector had they contacted?

“Listen, listen. _Listen_ young man or I shall have you brought up here for an inquiry about that incident in Limehouse from the fourth of January. Yes, of course I know it was you. Apart from actual fingerprints, it practically had your name all over it. It _smelled_ of you.”

He stopped again only to roll his eyes. “No, you don’t have a nice smell. But that is not why I am calling you. I have a person that went missing from Whitechapel and I’d like for you to find him.”

Meriwether was pretty sure this was not the usual police procedure.

“He’s blond, brown eyes. Not very tall. Was wearing a coat.”

A _Burberry_ coat, Meriwether mentally added. Much as the boy’s fashion sense was a disaster in itself, that coat was a source of envy.

“Yes, it is a Burberry coat.” Bucket confirmed, looking over at Meriwether with what could be best described as apprehension “What do you mean, you’ve stolen it? Did you meet him? You have? Where is he?”

Whatever was the answer made the inspector drop his head and let out a laugh.

“I am going to send two people over there. No, they’re not cops. No, they are absolutely not going to rat you out. They just want their friend. And his clothes, sir. Did you hear me? You’re going to return everything you’ve stolen and then you’re going to help them. Yes, goodbye.”

The inspector ended the call and looked at the two. He seemed infinitely more relaxed than he had when they first started talking.

“Where is he?” asked Honoria, shoulders less strained than before.

The inspector smiled. “Whitechapel. He never left.”

Meriwether frowned. But then why hadn’t he come home? Their argument had not been so disastrous that Arthur would have felt the need to escape permanently. He had not truly been offended with the slap. It happened often.

“Do you have an address?” Meriwether asked. He would feel humiliated if the boy had just crossed the street. But then the question remained of _who_ he was with. Even scared boys needed to eat.

“Yes, I’ll write it down.” Inspector Bucket said, grabbing a piece of paper, scribbling on it and handing it over to Honoria. Meriwether peered over her shoulder. He knew the street. He did not like it.

“What this number underneath?” Honoria asked, looking at the inspector again.

“My personal number. Make sure he does not lose it this time.”

“Thank you.” Honoria said, exiting the office.

Inspector Bucket pierced him with his eyes. Meriwether looked back.

“You’re not the cousin who lives in Sutton.” he stated.

“I am not.”

“I am guessing you’re not his brother either.”

“No.”

“Then what are you?” the inspector finally asked.

Meriwether was a bit at loss regarding that question, so he answered with the most recent truth. “His boyfriend.”

Inspector Bucket was fierce in his frowning. “I don’t trust you. My gut tells me so.”

“Your gut is a very sibyllic one.”

“If your friend does not call me back in forty-eight hours I am going to look you up. Then I am going to find out why you did not give me your name or address and it probably won’t turn out fine for you.”

Meriwether nodded and got out of the office under the man’s threatening gaze. He really hated policemen. Turning to Honoria, he asked her the time. Almost two in the afternoon. He had lost plenty of time already. Too much time.

“Let’s go to Whitechapel.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References:
> 
> Flaneur - A bohemian who wanders through the city.
> 
> The number of the beast - A reference to the book of Apocalypse in which the number of the beast is stated to be 666. Also a cool William Blake illustration (‘...and the number of the beast is 666’) and a Hannibal Season 3 episode.
> 
> Special Constable - Voluntary, mostly unpaid policemen in the London Metropolitan area. They have most of the same duties and powers as the regular police officers.


	7. Blue Dress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur needs somewhere to stay. 
> 
> There is a boy on the street and an abandoned warehouse. Only, it isn’t so abandoned and it might just be what he needs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *gasps* What's this? An update on a Monday?  
> Well, it's my birthday and I couldn't update last Friday. Had to divide the chapter in two because it was getting too long. Hope you appreciate it anyway and watch out for the usual update this Friday!
> 
> Content warning for this chapter:  
> Mentions of prostitution, child prostitution, emotional abuse, abusive relationship, sexual harassment.

 

His hands shook as he shut the door behind him and ran down the stairs, two steps at the time. Not very safe, but he definitely needed to get away. Run from this flat and try to catch his breath. Make his heartbeat less pronounced. When he did manage to open the building’s door to the cold February night, he found he did not mind the temperature difference. It made him feel more awake.

He looked up at the general storey of the flat and breathed out. The warmth from the slap lingered in his hand still. There was no way he was going back that night, not until he knew there would no be consequences.

Of course there would be consequences, there always were. He couldn’t take a step without there being consequences. With the tentative peace of the past month, he might have just taken a step too far.

Arthur needed somewhere to spend the night. A club would be ideal, but he didn’t know if he could take anything else.

He was still a bit high. That night he had been to a bar again before coming home and a guy had offered him a joint. He had learned to regret any sort of waste in the past month and really, what harm could it do? It wouldn’t be his first, definitely not his last, so he had taken the joint and shared a table with a thirty-year-old originally from Manchester. They had kissed and rubbed against each other and when the man left Arthur - for work, he told him, and he wondered what sort of job would allow a worker doing his job whilst high - with a number scribbled on his hands. He didn’t tell him he had no phone and simply waited to wash it off once he got home.

Looking down at the number he saw that the sweat had washed most of it off. Even if he did care enough to phone the guy and had an actual phone to do so, it’d be impossible. He was fine with that. The guy wasn’t much of a kisser.

He had no money again. He’d never run out of money in his life if he had stayed home. If Meriwether had not entered his life. Now Meriwether had his dad’s money, the small amount he’d been able to take from Meriwether and nameless guys at clubs and all Arthur had to show from it was the warmth still residing in his hand from the slap.

Walking across the street with purposeful strides, he knew where he had to go. It was free and mostly safe. He didn't go there often because it was hard to find guys that did not want to take him home or wanted to fuck him without paying. It was a peaceful sort of establishment, more of a bar than a club really. It had a different sort of customers, which was alright by him as well. He just wanted to rest. Maybe they’d let him snooze without too much trouble.

After a couple of visits to the bar he had found out it was technically in Stepney but it still proclaimed to be Whitechapel because that apparently sounded better. It wasn’t very far from the flat. Maybe Meriwether had already used it for one of his cons. It’d be funny and vaguely terrifying if they both met in a bar. Seeing as the other man already knew what he did, he’d look at him with disgust or a sly smile and Arthur would have to bite down the will to spit at him by kissing the nearest person. They would return home with unspeakable tension and then snap when one of them said the wrong thing.

He shook his head against the fantasy. That was how he made all the bad decisions, spending more time inside his head than staring at the dangers in front of him.

Reaching the bar, he couldn’t help the sigh of relief. At least they had not shut down. Lucky as he was, he was partly counting on it.

Making for the beeline, he saw that the goon at the front door was different from the one he remembered.

The man took a look at him and shook his head. Arthur frowned.

“What?”

“We don’t have kids here anymore.” the man informed him.

“I’m eighteen,” he replied in a flat tone. They had never asked him questions before. Maybe they had a new management.

“Still a kid.”

“I’m legal.” he stressed, making to remove the card from his pockets.

“Not my problem.” the goon replied, crossing his arms again. Arthur felt the petulant need to drag him by the ears despite their height difference. Yes, and bulk difference alright. He gritted his teeth and turned away instead. Fuck them, he wasn’t going to beg.

He wished he knew the time, it’d make planning much easier. He could still try his other spots, so that’s what he did.

He got barred from another two bars before giving up. He must look especially underage that night.

He passed a few buses on the street, almost all empty because who took the bus at this time? It must have been nearing midnight when he stopped by an abandoned warehouse, bone-weary and considering returning to the flat and face Meriwether’s revenge. He was certain he wouldn’t be left alone and just wished his punishment would not involve stealing again. He had felt so guilty when he had done it to that poor stall vendor. That he did not feel any sort of regret about stealing Meriwether himself was a given. The bastard earned it.

Just as he was considering going to another regular bar and hope it wouldn’t close before six, he noticed a figure across the street.

A boy, staring at him. When Arthur returned the gaze coolly, he did not avert his eyes. Underneath the street lamp’s light, he could make the outlines of his dark skin and clothes, a startling flash of yellow in his sneakers that was the single light spot of the figure. Arthur leant against the wall, feeling the handle of a door against his back, and tried to ignore the figure and reason with himself. For some reason or another, he had been lucky in his nightly walks and activities. He was yet to be robbed or threatened.

There was always a first.

"What the fuck are you looking at?" Arthur asked because he was feeling stupid and reckless and he might just as well sign his death sentence. The boy looked like he could have a knife hidden underneath his hoodie. Or six.

"You want something to drink?" the boy asked after a few moments of looking at him with a sly smile.

Arthur hesitated. If he gave him an answer, would he leave him alone or continue talking?

“I’m not feeling thirsty.”

“Yeah but I ain’t offering water.”

Continue talking, then. Arthur had guessed as much. He jumped when the boy crossed the narrow street in two strides and leant against the wall as well. He looked very comfortable.

“You’ve somewhere to sleep?”

Arthur narrowed his eyes.

“Oh, sorry.” the boy said, stretching his hand towards Arthur. Arthur eyed it and then the boy at his left and the hand again. He shrugged and shook it. He was somewhat polite for a street encounter.

“I’m Dodger.”

“Arthur.”

The boy nodded, seeming to consider something for a bit before nodding with more determination.

“You’re pretty.”

Arthur stared. He did not know where this was going and he was confused by what had been said already. Surely this was not a good start of a conversation.

“Thank you. I guess.” he said, pausing because the last sentence _was_ weird “I don’t sleep with boys, though.” he added, trying to be humorous and failing utterly.

The boy turned his head and grinned. It was somewhat alarming.

Dodger fished something out of his pocket and Arthur jumped, half expecting to be shown a knife or worse. It turned out to be a lighter and, reaching for another pocket, it was used to light up a cigarette. Dodger pressed it between his lips for a long moment and turned to Arthur.

“How old are you?” he asked, blowing out smoke in Arthur’s face. He was used to it, even if he had sucked off all the people who had done it to him.

“Eighteen.” he replied, “What about you?”

The boy grinned, inhaled deeply and passed the cigarette to Arthur. He held it between two fingers and noticed the odd shape that told him the boy had rolled it himself. He took it to his lips and sucked. He did not smoke often, and when he did it was invariably weed. It was not unpleasant but not his favourite sort of indulgence. Not like alcohol at all.

“Thirteen.”

Arthur frowned and looked at the cigarette in his hands. That was definitely way too young. He threw the offending thing to the ground and put it off with the sole of his boots. When he looked back at the boy, the ruffian was smiling as if he had predicted Arthur would do that.

“I have more.”

Arthur bet he did. A lot more.

“Do you have any place to go tonight?” Dodger asked.

Arthur huffed. “Do I look that homeless?”

“You kind of do. But you look sad too. And pretty gay.”

Arthur nearly choked on air.

“I’m _not_ sad,” he replied. He had spent the last two months convincing himself of that. “Also, you must know those three are not intrinsically exclusive.”

He wondered if the boy had understood the words he had used for a moment.

“Yeah…” Dodger replied, proving that he had, head resting briefly against the wall “But you ain’t excluding any of them yourself.”

Arthur sighed. “No, I’m not.”

He was so miserable he might open up with a street urchin just so he had someone to talk about it with. Before he could do, however, the kid spoke again.

“You can come to my place.” he said cheerily “Lots of sad and homeless people there.”

“Not gay ones, though.”

“Well, not many.”

Arthur tried to give his best long suffering sigh. It sounded whiny even to himself.

“Let’s go then.” he agreed, thinking of how cold the night was and how the policemen prowled the areas in search of the homeless that used park benches and the spaces beneath the bridges of the city. He did not think there were many bridges in Whitechapel, so that left him the benches.

The boy laughed suddenly and Arthur wondered for a moment if he was crazy.

“We’re already there.”

 

* * *

 

 

He woke with the startling slap of water on his face.

As soon as he felt it, opening his eyes to the dark room, he tried to pinpoint the reason for being in this unknown place. He remembered a toothy grin, a strong accent and bright shoes and let out a hollowed laugh. Yes, the boy. The other boy. Alright.

He frowned. Was the water his way to tell him he had changed his mind?

He looked around but the darkness did not help him discern a shadow or a moving frame. That was, until he heard the sound of a switch being flicked on and the room plunged into blinding light.

He squinted against the invading brightness and tried not to move too much. His legs felt weak and his stomach grumbled. The bottle he did not remember drinking weighed heavy on his lap.

“Who are you and what the hell are you doing in my bed?” asked a cutting female voice. Arthur made an effort to open his eyes or to budge the arm that had risen to protect his face without him being conscious about it.

“Can you please turn the light off?”

The other person clearly hesitated. He could not blame her; he would too if he found a stranger in his bed. A few moments later, the light was switched off. He blew out a breath.

“Thanks.” he croaked out, daring to release his protection.

The girl seemed older than him, but not by much. In the darkness, he could only figure out pale skin and a mane of hair similar to Honoria’s in colouring. Unlike Meriwether, he was not an expert at reading people or body language, but her posture oozed hostility. He was afraid that she would drop a bucket on him next.

“So? Are you saying anything?” the girl insisted clearly itching to slap him across the head. His very tired and already hurting head.

“I swear I did not know this was your bed!” he exclaimed, gesticulating to the rest of the room.

“I’m sure you knew it wasn’t yours”

Arthur acquiesced. She had a point.

“I did not particularly care at the moment,” he confessed, rolling the bottle in his hands. He did drink the whole of it at some point, didn’t he? Only, it had been half empty and the boy had the gall to tell him it had been him to drink it first.

“There was this boy,” he informed her “looked Bangladeshi.”

The fight seemed to go out of the girl and she sighed with some finality.

“Oh, Dodger and his schemes then.” she muttered, turning around and removing her cardigan “What’s your name, boy?”

He was a bit offended at being called _boy_. “Arthur.”

“Well I’m Nancy and if you speak another word for the next half hour I swear I’m gonna shove that bottle up a place the sun don’t shine.”

Arthur made a motion to zip his mouth, half convinced she would take up on that promise, and then halted.

“Wait, but can I stay?”

“Why the fuck d’ya want to stay?” Nancy asked, seeming to ignore that he had broken his promise already.

“I have nowhere to go.”

She pursed her lips and said nothing. Then she retreated to a side room. As the lights flickered in fluorescent tones, he figured it was a bathroom. He heard water running and supposed she did not mind his presence so much. He dropped to the floor though because it _was_ her bed, careful not to break the bottle and setting it far away from walking space.

He might as well sleep a bit more, he thought as he lay on the cold hard floor. His head was still heavy with alcohol, which he knew tended not to induce the best sort of sleep. At least he did not feel cold.

 

* * *

 

The following day he did not wake up as abruptly. He was not thrown anything, nor did he hit his head. He simply woke up to the sound of running water, much as he had fallen asleep before. This time, it seemed the girl he had met - Nancy, he remembered - was simply washing her face. As soon as he rolled on the floor to get a glimpse of the bathroom, she peeked from the doorway with suds of soap still on her chin and eyebrows. She still looked fierce.

“Why did you sleep on the floor?”

“I thought you’d object to sharing a bed,” Arthur replied, slightly frowning. Her semblance, though not completely hostile the night before, had clearly stated that she would not like to have him breathe over his neck.

She blinked. “There’s a rug on the other side.”

Arthur craned his head as far as it would go. She was right. There _was_ a rather fluffy rug on the other side of the bed.

He was about to move onto that far more inviting surface when there was a knock at the door.

She looked sharply at him and then at the bed. He frowned. She repeated the gesture with more emphasis on the bed. He understood and scrambled to squeeze underneath the bed frame.

When the door opened to a scraggly old man with a funny hat, she seemed to transform.

“Hello, dearie.” greeted the man, surveying the room as if sensing another presence.

Nancy hugged the man with a smile on her lips and then rested her hands on his shoulders.

“How are you feeling?” the man asked, slouching slightly. His accent was a bit weird.

“I’m alright, Fagin. Last night was fine.”

“Where were you?”

“Near Brick Lane,” she said, sitting on the bed. Arthur felt the mattress press against his head and tried to lower himself “It was fine. No cops or anything. The guys were all well-behaved. Geezers as usual, of course.”

Arthur frowned. _Well-behaved?_

“That’s good.” the man said, hesitating and looking around again “That’s good. I’d hate to hire someone to follow you around.”

Nancy let out a dry laugh. “Yeah, because it went great last time.”

Fagin sighed and Arthur felt the mattress depress onto the top of his head again.

“How could I have predicted that he would fall in love?” he asked. Arthur felt a bit guilty for spying on this clearly private conversation but both the circumstances he was in and the inevitability of his curiosity led him to listen on. “I hired him to look after you!”

“He looked, liked and touched.” Nancy said, “Men will be men.”

Arthur thought, as a member of the male species himself, that she had just summarised most of the dramatic dilemmas from the history of literature. Maybe history in total.

There was a moment of silence and the man shifted in the mattress. When he spoke again it was with a muffled voice and Arthur figured they were hugging.

“I’m sorry, dearie. It won’t happen again. You know it won’t.”

Nancy sighed. “I know, Fagin. Move on, won’t ya? I’m tired.”

“Yes, yes, I’m going. At what time tonight?”

“Eight. Dodger will take me out.”

From where he stood, he saw the man squeeze Nancy’s arm, smile and exit. He blew out a breath he did not know he was holding.

“Now you come out of there and say what you’re doing in my room.”

Arthur wasn’t about to contradict her, so he slid from under the bed frame, dragging some dust with him. The girl sat on the bed and looked on at him with a frown. He was used to that reaction, so he simply endured it, patted the dust off of his jeans and raised himself to his full height.

“I am sort of homeless at the moment.” he said “There was a fight between me and...” he trailed off and bit his lip. He didn’t even know what to call Meriwether. They were clearly not boyfriends anymore, nor lovers. They were not roommates because they hardly stayed in the same place at the same time anymore, and when they did tragedy would eventually follow. Arthur standing in this room explaining himself was proof of it. He could only describe their relationship as Meriwether being his personal demon who persisted in doing his evil things and Arthur as his minion who would probably return, wagging his tail and hoping for a treat. God, that was depressing.

“Well, a fight between me and my ex-boyfriend.” he ended up saying because it was easier to comprehend and he couldn’t just say what he had in his head. Before Meriwether, he had toned down on the voicing of intimate thoughts with the fear of reproval. After Meriwether, his fear of was outweighed by the need to sting the man and make him just a little uncomfortable by what he had done to him. He had invariably unsatisfying results.

“So you need a place to say.” Nancy reasoned. He thought she sounded understanding. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad. She had said something about the _last time_. He was curious about what had happened, but he couldn’t ask her something so intimate after knowing her for just a few hours.

“I do.” he admitted, “We parted on unfriendly terms.”

Arthur personally thought he was understating the situation.

“How unfriendly?”

Arthur sighed. “He called me a whore and then I slapped him.”

She groaned sympathetically so he continued “Also, he might have said he wished he had gone out with my sister instead of me.”

He did not say ‘fuck’ because he wasn’t crude, nevermind what he had shouted in the heat of the moment at Meriwether the previous night. Or at least he thought it was the previous night. He was somewhat confused about the current time, stuck in the room without a clock. Nancy raised her eyebrows. “Well, isn’t he a slimy bastard?”

Arthur huffed. “You have no idea.”

“You need a job, then.” she proclaimed “To get you off your feet. Are you good at anything?”

Arthur blushed. Well, he was good at _several_ things. None of them would be something he’d be comfortable putting on his résumé.

“Not many things.” he ended up saying.

“Ok. you can accompany me tonight.”

Arthur hesitated because really, he shouldn’t ask but he’d be silly not to since he’s about to go out into the night with someone he just met.

“Not to sound ignorant, but what do you exactly do?”

Nancy laughed. “You’re a bit of an idiot, aren’t you?”

Arthur shrugged. His sister used to call him that whenever he was being obvious. He had liked that because then she’d say it was her duty to explain and they would proceed to spend the next half hour alone, discussing things that were beyond the _obvious._

“I provide entertainment for a gentleman who has enough money to pay for it.” she replied, suddenly looking serious “There are names your ex would call me that would perhaps explain it better.”

 _Oh._ Right. Yes, that was obvious.

He shook his head. “There is no need.”

Nancy gave him a minuscule smile. “Now I must check on the kids. Come with me.”

 _The kids?_ he asked himself, growing a bit concerned. He followed her out of the room anyway, leaving his coat on the bed because the temperature seemed to have risen considerably. Maybe it was daytime indeed, and he had not lost many hours.

The corridor was long and it contained a plentitude of doors. It seemed to be decaying with moisture. He had not noticed its colour the previous night, but now he could see it was painted  green and greenish blue as if the paint had run out at some moment and they had to reach for the only can of paint left. Noticing his inspection, Nancy explained it was work of the _younger boys_. Arthur’s concern did not decrease.

They reached the end of the corridor and entered another room, far bigger than the one at Nancy’s, with enough population to fill it to the brim. He could now recognise the general shape of the warehouse he’d stopped by the previous night. The widest windows started in the upper levels and the few spaces that showed light were covered with plastic canvases. Some iron beams that sprouted from the walls were so sharp he wondered if there had been no incidents yet. A few of the beams were also used as holders for umbrellas and jackets, scarves and bags. It was a mess with enough details to keep his eyes busy.

“They’re loitering because it’s a Saturday.” she disclosed, showing him to an empty spot at one of the couches. The ceiling rose to a considerable amount of feet above them. Passages in the floor above sported a lot of teenagers, some talking among themselves. Others simply resting on the chairs and ripped sofas strewn across the area. There was a TV in the centre of the room and a group was huddled there watching BBC1.

They sat and he was eyed immediately by a girl close to him.

“Fagin takes in people who escape the services sometimes.” Nancy explained “Vagabonds who can be of some use as bodyguards. Rent boys and older girls who have no choice and want to gain a bit of money.”

Arthur looked around and noticed most of the kids were just under his age. Perhaps they had dropped out too. Most certainly had not even gotten to their A-levels. Perhaps that would be inconsequential.

“Some do actual work. We don’t just steal, you know? But they answer to Fagin and give him a percentage in exchange for a bed, food and water. They can leave. Some have been with us for over six years, though. We’re not all delinquents or prostitutes. Some of us have a family.”

“But it’d be better if we didn’t.” piped in the girl by his side. _Christ_ , she must be fourteen. Did she…

As if guessing his line of thought, she continued “You don’t ask, I don’t tell.”

Arthur did just that.

“The rent outside is quite daunting. Better to remain here.” he reasoned. Nancy smiled with approval and Arthur had the impression he had done something right.

“What we do here is an illegal occupation opposing a system that makes any legal status too bloody expensive,” Nancy said, getting up and walking towards a more secluded area that he guessed constituted the kitchen. When she came back a few minutes later she had coffee in two mugs and a plate with bread.

“God, thank you,” he said. He was starving. The last time he had eaten had been just before he had gone back to the flat, a pastry at a bakery on their street. The woman who worked there had somehow taken to him and made the most of it by asking for a discount.

He ate the loaf in nearly no time and made the boys leaning against the sofa he was sitting in snigger. He tried not to glower because some of them were much bigger than him and he did not know where he stood with Nancy, much less with the others. The coffee was terrible but beggars couldn’t be choosers.

“That boy,” he said, biting his lips. He was pushing his luck, asking too many questions that would have him out in no time. And he was surrounded.

“You mean Dodger?”

“Yeah, does he,”he said, feeling a bit ridiculous “you know.”

Nancy’s eyes widened. “Oh no. He’d cut their dicks off”, she told him, chuckling at the notion.

Arthur sighed with relief, It seemed too sordid, having such a young boy prostituting himself.

“He just steals.”

Well, he guessed that was better. Somewhat.

They stayed in what he perceived to be the common room after that and Arthur nodded off after a while. When he next woke up, the windows no longer provided any light and lamps had been turned on. There were barely any kids around and he supposed it was either bedtime - which he doubted because he was sure he had not slept _that_ much - or they were indeed working away in their illegal activities. Nancy was gone but he had a blanket across his chest. He felt oddly touched.

He got up and surveyed his surroundings more closely. Only ten children remained - the youngest, he noticed - and they were almost falling asleep themselves. They shared between them a pack of biscuits and stared at the screen like they weren’t properly registering what it was projecting. The TV was still on BBC1. He doubted anyone had changed the channel or turned the TV off at all. EastEnders was on so he’d set the time around eight in the evening.

“Don’t you have beds to go to?” he asked, not to anyone in particular. A little boy blinked and looked up. Then he made a strange hand sign to the girl beside him, who got up and left for the stairs. The other nine followed her in an organised line and they all infiltrated several doors in the upper levels. Such a coordinated bunch, he thought. Finding himself alone, he thought he might as well see if Nancy is in her own room. She told Fagin she would go out at eight.

He remembered the TV before going and paused as he stretched out his hand. Watching EastEnders whilst in the East End. Was he an EastEnder too now?

He turned the TV off.

Nancy was in her room getting dressed. She didn’t seem to mind being half-naked in the same room with him, though he did cover his eyes and squeal a bit when he saw her breasts.

“Are they so scary to you?” Nancy asked him. He realised he had told her he had dated a man earlier that day. She must have realised he was probably gay and yet had not kicked him out for it.

“Hum...I don’t see many very often,” he told her, testing the waters. There was a sound of fabric being shuffled.

“You can look now. Your innocence is intact,” she told him. Arthur did so and noticed she was dressing in a simple, not too revealing dress. Light fabric that he thought allowed some transparency, but nothing like he’d imagine someone who walked the streets at night having sex in exchange for money would dress like.

“Men like innocence.” she told him, guessing his thoughts “Old men like chastity.”

Arthur felt sick to his stomach and it must have shown because Nancy blinked and turned around to put on a cardigan. He tried to change the topic.

“So, you’re going now?”

“ _We’re_ going.” she corrected him.

“I don’t even know what I’m supposed to do.”

“For now, just watch.” Nancy told him, tonelessly “Dodger’s coming tonight so you won’t need to use force.”

She turned around and looked at him from head to toe.

“ _Can_ you use force, though?”

Arthur thought of Jones’ hands all over him and a guy forcing him to kneel in a bathroom stall. Meriwether pinning him down to the bed.

“I’ve never tried.”

Nancy sighed. “Doesn’t matter. You’re just going to watch and then we’ll see how you’ll react.”

Not very well, he found some hours later.

It had started simple enough, going to a main street in Spitalfields quite close to a bar he knew, far away from the flat that he did not feel anxious about it. Dodger had accompanied them with a grin and a proclamation of knowing Arthur would fit right in. Nancy had told him then that it was only the first day and _hey_ , you’re supposed to be working here so no mingling. So they had shut up and simply continued walking. When they did reach the place, Nancy ordered Dodger to go to the end of the street and Arthur to be not very far behind, but enough to give the impression they were not together.

At first, it was quite boring. Nancy got picked up twice, signed something to Dodger that apparently meant everything was fine and got into cars that drove around to the end of the street, close enough to Dodger that allowed him to notice if anything was strange but gave him some space to be invisible. Nancy returned with hands full of cash - actually, a bra full of it, he noticed as she flashed him a look of the bills peeking out as she passed by. Arthur had definitely not made that much money back at the clubs and bars.

Dodger seemed even more bored than he and the occasional pedestrian that passed close enough would eventually find themselves without wallet without even realising it. He thought of the money they were making and how part of it would go to all the people in the warehouse, even to the children who could not work. He remembered stealing a bottle for Meriwether and realising it hadn’t even been touched in the following months.

It was around two when the traffic picked up. Nancy got into more cars and Dodger pickpocketed more people. Arthur just stood there, trying not to stand out and feeling inadequate to this sort of movements. He had been contemplating returning to the warehouse for five minutes when he heard someone clear his throat. He turned.

“How much?” asked a guy, middle aged and going bald. Despite being nighttime, he wore sunglasses. He was breathing deeply and Arthur was reminded of older guys on clubs, trying to get nearer and nearer without being welcome. Arthur felt his heartbeat pick up. Oh god, he had thought Arthur was a rent boy.

“Erm, I-I don’t, I mean, I-”

“How much, pretty boy?” the man repeated.

“I don’t really do that.” he asserted, trying not to let his voice shake too much. He was flushing already.

“You look like you could eat.” the man commented, looking Arthur up and down as if _he_ wanted to eat him “I have some money, gorgeous.”

Arthur shook his head. “Thanks, but-”

“I have my car over there, just across the street. Lemme take you home.”

Arthur took a step backwards. “No, I really ought to go. I haven’t even-”

He didn’t know what he would say next because the man took a step forward and his smile grew. Oh god, he wasn’t going to stop, he was still moving.

“I’ll make it good to you, beautiful.” he continued, not stepping away and Arthur really couldn’t do this, he was just accompanying Nancy and where were they because the guy was not stopping and what would he do?

He stopped as he felt something hit his back.

“Oi, the gentleman here says he’s not doing it.” he heard Dodger. Arthur sighed and breathed out. “Go find another one, won’t ya?”

The man seemed mollified by the sight of a thirteen-year-old, strange as that was. He lifted his hands, gulped and left.

“You alright?” Dodger asked. Arthur turned to him and saw he was holding a knife that seemed sharper by being held by such a young hand. He nodded and spotted Nancy running towards them, blue dress flowing with the wind. He was reminded of their earlier conversation.

All those men in the clubs, all they wanted had been his youth. His full, open lips and his pliancy. He felt suddenly used by the very game he had been playing. Chastity and innocence were harmful devices in the hands of those who thought had some claim over their bodies. Was his body tainted by those who had touched him? If so, was it only skin-deep?

Arthur found that he was shaking. Badly.

But what he had done in clubs was different, wasn’t it? He had had fun. He had the luxury of choosing. He had the right to refuse. If we went down this path, he’d have neither. He understood now why Nancy needed someone to watch her back. He shuddered to think of those who didn’t have that option.

“You’re not cut off for this life, Arthur,” Nancy said, eyes soft. He didn’t think they held pity, and that was far more comforting than a hug. He was a soft, pitiful thing, but for once in his life he found he didn’t mind it.

“Can we get back?” he asked. Nancy nodded and off they went, from Spitalfields to Whitechapel in the dead of night.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References:
> 
> Bangladeshi - Arthur spent a lot of time in Whitechapel already and there is a big community of British Bangladeshi there, so I thought I'd make Dodger one too.
> 
> East Enders - A British soap opera that actually aired before Dickensian. I had to put up with several episodes before watching what I truly wanted. They were mostly amusing, though, so that’s not too bad. I thought it would be fun if these kids, who actually lived in the East End, watched EasEnders whilst in the EastEnd because things like that amuse me. *shakes head*


	8. Blue Book

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur found he quite liked Nancy, with her pretty dresses and hard words. She had a lot to teach him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello guys! Here is the follow-up to that Nancy chapter!
> 
> Content Warning: Mentions of domestic violence, homophobia, sexual exploitation, slut-shaming and drugs.

 

It was a Sunday and Arthur wore his coat inside. He would be ready if Fagin discovered his presence and told him to piss off. He didn’t know if he would go back to Meriwether’s, if he’d go down to Satis House or if he’d try his luck with Pocket. He wondered if he was still mad at him for leaving, for being somewhere else without contact. He hoped he did not think Arthur had forgotten him or he’d have much to atone for. Nancy had called him an idiot. He was far more than that, thinking he could live like this. Sleeping his days away and spending his nights with strangers, like a delinquent or a junkie . What would Pocket think? What would his sister think?

_ What would his father think? _ , a little voice wondered. He shut it down. What he thought no longer mattered. If he had been so averse to going to Satis House, it had been for a good reason. He no longer needed to concern himself with keeping standards. What he had done for the past months stood for that very thing and the events of the previous night had been a stark reminder of his own illusions.

He craved change. He just didn’t know how to go about it.

Today was a Sunday and he and Nancy were in the bedroom. Nancy was sleeping on the bed, Arthur was resting on the floor trying to convince himself into a sleep. He was yet to snooze since he had come to the warehouse last night. He kept replaying the insinuations of the man in his head, building around his memories of Jones and Meriwether and creating fictions out of their touches. Meriwether had never been violent, had he? He had never pressured Arthur into having sex. Only, maybe he hadn’t because it had been a chore for him. He had used sex to lure Arthur in, so maybe Arthur had not been sexually attractive to him. 

Once again he was reminded just how deeply he had been used, and how diverse its forms had been.

He heard a sound from above. Nancy seemed to have woken up,

“Good morning,” she said, still sleep-laced.

“Morning” he replied, “What time is it?”

“Eleven in the morning.”

“How do you know?”

“The light from the window.” she informed him “You didn’t sleep, did you?”

Arthur did not answer, feeling a bit ridiculous. She probably dealt with this all the time.

“Thought so.” Nancy replied, shifting on the bed. Peering up, Arthur saw her sitting up and stretching. She looked as if she had not had sex with over five men the previous night. He wondered how long it must have taken for their bruising touches to have been rendered inconsequential.

“You mustn't let it get to you.” she said after a few moments “They treat you like trash so they won’t feel like the trash  _ they  _ are.”

It made sense. He’d done it all the time back in school, mocking the bulkier guys for their stupidity. He had never been particularly proud of his leaning towards the humanities but seeing other people choose the sciences and mathematics and failing at them had made him feel better for his choices. Mocking Jones over his admittedly small dick because he had called him a slut.

It was petty and pitiful and so  _ him _ that it made him question why he was like that at all.

“You didn’t seem to mind, me being gay.” he said, because his thoughts were becoming too depressing.

“Honey, so many homeless people are gay.” Nancy said, getting up and heading towards the closet. She opened it and considered her options. They were all dresses. Arthur had checked because he needed a change of clothes quickly. Taking a quick shower just didn’t do it for him. “You could go into that common room and pick a bunch. How do you think they came to live here in the first place?”

That they had been kicked out of their homes for that reason went unmentioned and it made Arthur worry at his lip. But that was what had happened to  _ him _ . He had thought himself different, not just another tragic case. He had been a Havisham, second heir to the Havisham family fortune. Things like that did not happen in high society, not to people who lived in Mayfair and studied at a privileged school. It happened to folk who lived in tiny flats, people who didn’t have stable families or educated parents. 

But homophobia and ignorance were upper-class problems too. His own school had been a reflex of that. He’d never trust authority figures after this.

He seemed to have zoned out during his thoughts because the next thing he knew, Nancy’s face entered his field of vision with a mighty frown.

“You with me?” Nancy asked. Arthur nodded and received a tiny smile from Nancy before she undressed and dressed in another dress. He rolled and stared at the floorboards.

“Besides, when the owner of the warehouse is gay himself. It’d be a bit bastardly to deny homeless kids shelters just because they are gay.”

“You mean...Fagin?” Arthur asked, thinking of the old man with an accent from the previous day. 

Nancy frowned again. “They come in all sizes, you know?”

Arthur startled. Yes, of course. He didn’t think.

The journey must have shown on his face because Nancy seemed pleased enough not to swat him.

“My father kicked me out.” Arthur blurted out after a while. But she knew that already. “And he did that because of the same reasons the other kids’ parents did, you know? I thought he’d be above that, even when it was happening. My father is a very educated person. He is a businessman who knows when people become a liability.”

He shrugged. “It seems I became one.”

“You can’t be a liability, Arthur.” Nancy told him, sounding somewhat put off by what he had said. Was he being whiny? He could never tell.

"I had everything before.” he continued “I was rich, you know?"

"Yeah, you sound like it."

"Fuck off.” he blurted out, testing the waters. Nancy did not seem to mind. “What I mean is, I lost everything. I had everything and I've lost everything because I was fucked by the wrong person in all sorts of ways."

Nancy hummed and Arthur looked up, frowning when he saw her with her eyes closed. There was a full minute of silence before she spoke again.

"You know what that sounds like? It sounds like you have nothing to lose.”

Arthur made a noise for her to go on.

“If I leave this place,” she told him, eyes still shut “I'll have nothing. I hate having to be a prostitute because of the customers. It was worse back when I was starting because I was too young and I didn’t know how to play things properly.” she sighed “I still hate that they think they own some part of me, when what they do own is a fraction of my time. But if I leave, I lose the love of Fagin, who has helped me through the worst parts of my life. And that would be everything.”

So they were like father and daughter? He tried to imagine how they had met. Maybe Nancy had already been walking the streets at night. Maybe she had starved. Maybe Fagin had meant survival.

“ _ You _ , on the other hand,” she told him, finally opening her eyes and looking at Arthur like he was to blame for his own destiny “ you truly have nothing to lose."

Arthur got up, feeling his kneecaps pop thanks to his earlier position, and paced the bedroom. She was true. He knew she was true. But as much as the possibilities seemed a blessing in themselves, they also represented a big unknown that quite honestly scared him in a way Meriwether himself never would. Maybe that had been why he’d stayed. Better the devil you know.

He turned to tell her as much and something caught his eye from its location on a nearby shelf. A miniature ballerina, painted yellow and pink. There was a scratch from when he had first bought it and shoved it with haste on his messenger bag. He had been so sad that day.

“This is mine.” he said, turning around “Or, it was.”

Lost the same day he had lost his place at Satis House.

Nancy got up, looking a bit disoriented about the turn in the conversation, and surveyed the item. “This is Dodger’s. I mean, only he would steal something that was not valuable.”

Arthur reeled back. “This was over twenty pounds in an antique market!”

Nancy shrugged as if that was irrelevant. He guessed she was right. He had never paid it much attention after his purchase. It was just a trinket, a detail on his bedroom. He was not sure why he had placed in the suitcase in the first place.

_ The suitcase. _

“Was there something else?” he asked Nancy, trying not to feel too hopeful. They probably had discarded the clothes and taken the money, perhaps sold the other smaller things.

“I’ll have to check.” she said, heading towards the door and letting out a shout.

“Oi, Dodger!”

There was the sound of running along the corridor and a familiar face showed itself to the bedroom.

“I swear it wasn’t me.”

Nancy huffed. “It must have been you, then.”

Dodger set his palm flat on his chest and gasped. “I really don’t know where you’re coming from.”

Nancy rolled her eyes and took a step further. “Do you see what Arthur is holding? Did you steal it?”

Arthur handed the figurine over and Dodger observed it, turning it in his hands as if evaluating it.

“Ok, this was me.”

Arthur sighed in relief. This, however, also meant that he had been robbed by a thirteen-year-old boy. Seeing as the boy had protected him last night, he’d say they were even.

Nancy allowed a brief smile. “Now, bring me the rest.”

Dodger groaned. “Come on, Nan! It was full of shit!”

“Hey!” Arthur complained before being shut down by two simultaneous glares.

“Where is the rest?” Nancy asked, punctuating each word with a step. She definitely knew how to be scary.

“I distributed. The guys have it. The clothes are in that big closet upstairs. The suitcase is with you.”

Nancy turned and opened her closet doors wide. Indeed, there was his beloved suitcase. He could cry.

“Now, go and fetch the other things.”

Dodger groaned but did what he was told. Arthur and Nancy followed him around the warehouse and soon enough their efforts were supported by half of the place’s population. Boys and girl asking each other, looking in every nook and corner. Arthur felt confused as to why they were bothering at all when Dodger had stolen from him in the first place. As far as he could tell, he and Nancy were the leaders directly underneath Fagin and he did not know why the other kids would help undo what, by the group’s logic, had not been a mistake but rather standard practice. Maybe they feared Nancy’s threat of ‘having no  _ special _ food’ for a month. He was still in the dark about what the  _ special  _ food meant.

Soon enough they had collected all the items and every kid brought a piece to Nancy’s room. They even made a line, which was both adorable and strange. He wouldn’t imagine kids in these situations being well-mannered and polite, but then again the most undignified arseholes he had ever met had been rich kids so what did he know? He was one of them.

At some point, Nancy told the kids to return to what they had been doing and made Arthur sit down on the bed and verify the things they had collected. He felt a bit guilty, taking these things away from them when they had been gifted with them, however illegally that had occurred. But then the thought returned that he might have a greater need for them very soon.

When they had finished putting things back in their proper places, he couldn’t help but think that something was still missing. He looked at the items carefully, trying to place it. He ran his hands across his beloved clothes, the empty wallet and the useless paraphernalia he had placed some importance in back in December. It was lacking.

His confusion must have shown on his face - when did it not? - because Nancy snapped her fingers, drawing his attention back.

“What?” he asked, trying not to feel too hopeful again. It was great to have regained all of that.

“There’s the book!” she said.

“The book?” he asked, frowning when she got up and tiptoed to a metal storage shelf on the other side of the room and returned with something blue in her hands. A book. A blue book.

_ Maurice. _

She held out the novel and he took it with shaky hands.

“I thought,” he whispered with a small voice, “I thought I had lost it.”

“Was almost thrown in the dumpster. People do not read much around here. I convinced Fagin  _ I _ wanted to read it.” she told him in a flippant manner.

“Did you?” he asked.

“Of course.” Nancy said, sitting down again “It’d be a waste not to.”

Arthur let out a surprised laugh and ended up surprising himself with it. “What did you think?”

“It wasn’t too bad. A bit too testosterone-filled and I still can’t believe the guy’s first time was after college, but  _ fine _ .”

Arthur shrugged. ”It was the Edwardian Era.”

“I doubt people waited that long. Even in the Edwardian era.”

Arthur tried to laugh but it came out as a mostly shaky hum.

“It’s my favourite book.” he confessed, trying to gather yet another impression from Nancy, When no answer came, he continued.

“I read it three times in sixth grade when I started realising I might not fancy girls. I felt like a stranger when I realised it. Like I was betraying the family or something silly like that.” he huffed a laugh. At least Pocket had been understanding and kind. But that had been Pocket, a caring soul in one million. “Guys picked up on that, of course. Mum had died like two years before and it was like I was alone. I had no one to turn to because there are just certain things you don’t tell your cousin.”

“Before, “ he started, trailing off when he realised he did not know what he was willing to part with. He had already told too much. Maybe Nancy would be bored with his pathetic recollections. He cleared his throat.

“Before” he repeated, grip tightening on the spine “all this happened, I was a really lonely person. I mean, I knew people. I had a couple of friends.” he sighed “I had been with some really nasty guys. They called me names, as you can imagine. They whispered behind my back. Guys who told me I was gorgeous and called me names behind my back once I had sucked them off.”

He shrugged and felt a shudder run through his body. Jones and Davies and Brown. Whispers in the corridors and loaded glances. He suppressed the will to cry.

“I didn’t care about the sort of attention I got as long as I got attention.”

He didn’t dare to look at Nancy lest he is discouraged to keep talking.

“There is this sentence that goes ‘I should have gone through life half awake if you'd had the decency to leave me alone’.” he quoted, turning the book and tracing with his hands the well-known texture of the hardback.

He opened the book and faced the frontispiece. This was a vintage edition he had bought in a Soho bookstore, underpriced and forgotten in a discount box. He had nearly screamed in excitement when he found it in that beautiful blue and realised exactly what he was holding in his hands. He had returned home a happier person.

“Then Meriwether shows up and suddenly it’s like I’m living in another world. He is handsome and caring and loving. He doesn’t mind my insufficiencies. He listens.” he paused “Of course I realise now that that was what he wanted me to see. Because that’s what _ I wanted. _ ”

Because that was what he still wanted.

He paused and thought of sitting in a café in Covent Garden holding hands. His mind being so far into his fantasy that glances would not follow him. So overwhelmed by the touch that no whispers would reach him at all.

“I had never felt so alive.” he finished. He finally looked at Nancy and she did not seem bored or to think him silly for being so easily deceived.

“When it all went to hell, you know what I thought?” 

Nancy made a sound for him to continue.

“I wished he had never woken me up. That he had never touched those parts of me that I had willingly suppressed.”

“Then I wanted to sleep again.” he laughed and it came out as a croak “Hell, I still do. I’d love to fall on my back and sleep my life away. It was so comfortable.”

“But it’s like in the book, isn’t? Once you’ve woken up there’s no turning back.”

He closed the book and handed it to Nancy.

“These past two months I’ve been trying to go back to what I was but now I’ve realised I can’t.”

Nancy looked at him with a raised eyebrow. Her grave look seemed more lifted somehow and he thought he could see the hint of a smile. She took the book.

“Wanna get high?”

Arthur grinned and the knot on his stomach dissolved somewhat.

“Definitely.”

 

* * *

 

The sheets smelled of bleach and other invasive chemicals. It wasn’t like Meriwether’s aftershave at all. He had slept beautifully after he had climbed into bed with Nancy -  _ no touching  _ \- and smoked a bit from a weird object she was graceful enough to share. At the present moment, he tried to recall the day of the week but found himself unable to. The weed had got him good.

He tried to see if the tiny windows shed any light on the matter. Seeing as they were too far off for him to determine it, he gave up and sunk on the bed again. So smooth. So nice. The sheets were nice.

He guessed he was not high but he wasn’t functioning properly either.

“Hey…” Nancy said from his side. Arthur tried to lift his head but it was far too heavy. “That guy who fooled you. Why did he do it?”

“Money.” he answered, surprising himself by hot having his heart clench as he used to before.

“Yeah, I got that. But what did he do afterwards that got you all obsessed with him?”

“I’m  _ not _ obsessed.”

He was. God, he was and did even know how to stop.

Nancy hummed as if realising his utter bullshit and Arthur sighed. He guessed he must be a bit entertaining to her so that’s why she kept asking.

“There were a few complications. My suitcase was stolen, if you remember. I was almost arrested. I couldn’t turn to just anyone. And I spent the money I did not have drinking my sorrows away that night.” He winced. He  _ was _ a sad case. “And then the bastard picked me up and told me to stay with him.”

"Wait,” Nancy told him, “he asked you to  _ stay _ ?"

"Well, yes."

"That doesn't make sense." 

"He pitied me, I guess." 

She huffed and it made the air around his left shoulder warmer. "Honey, con men don't pity anyone." 

"You speak as if Fagin is any better, recruiting drunk teens from the streets with the help of another teenager for prostituting and stealing!"

He didn’t know why he had said that. He wouldn’t claim to be testing the waters again and there was a chance too much complaining would get him kicked out. Much as he didn’t like to be in a den of thieves, he also did not appreciate being outside in the cold and rain.

She clicked her tongue, seeming unfazed by his comment. He supposed it was acceptable when they had stolen from him. "We outright steal. We don't fool people about it."

“If you think a con man lets you have his bed without asking something in return, you really are a sheltered brat." Arthur doesn't say it was actually a sofa because he understands what she's saying. And he did get to 

“Well, maybe he thought there would be some use to me.  He demanded that I made his bed every single day, that I did groceries. It’s not even that I didn’t like this stuff. It was normal. It was strangely normal. I spent Christmas with the same person that guaranteed I wouldn’t spend it with my family. How’s that for some happy holidays?”

Arthur finding a moment alone, touching himself because he could try at least to find physical comfort where mentally he could not. Meriwether arriving and just  _ knowing _ . Guessing what he had been up to and lending him a hand. He had been so ready to forgive him then because his self-esteem had been the lowest. Desperate. Clinging. Pathetic.

A tremor ran across him as if electricity had short-circuited inside his body. He felt the tell-tale tremor on his upper lip. Pathetic. 

“God, I don’t know why I am crying.” he whispered, sounding rougher than he had any right to.

“Can I?” Nancy whispered back, reaching with one hand towards. He nodded because really, just how much more humiliated could he be?

“You’re touch-starved.” she told him

Arthur nodded and Nancy slid her hand across his shoulder. Warm, unlike the touches he had gotten since Nicholas, a fleeting star in the reckless nights. Arthur looked up with blurry eyes and saw the mould in the ceiling blend and fill the entire surface.

They remained like that for a long while. There was a soft hum from the heating, that reached the upper levels but not this room. Nancy with her rough life and rougher encounters did not seek comfort within her own home. He felt insufficiently prepared to live alone. Even now, he needed a hand on his shoulder to feel better.

“You’re right.” he told her, feeling his shakes subsidise. He covered her hand with his own and mused over the strangeness of this unlike pair.

“I tried to do what you did, earning my living by sleeping with men.” he confessed “But I couldn’t. It’s not that it isn’t a profession like any other or that you shouldn’t do it. _ I  _ couldn’t do it. I just blew the pretty ones, the ones I liked and liked me back. Sometimes I got paid, others I didn’t. I guess I was fooling myself, really.”

Nancy chuckled. “So you _ just _ blew them?”

Arthur blushed "I haven't let another have me  _ that way _ and I don't know why." 

He did know why. He just didn’t want to say it.

Nancy huffed. "I don't know what's the big deals with butts. It's just another hole!"

Arthur blinked and turned his head. Nancy grinned and this time, it seemed she wasn’t about to frown again. Soon enough their stomachs rumbled and they decided it was truly necessary to eat at some point and off they went to the common room. Because Arthur had cried and Nancy had listened, she told him it was his duty to cook. Plus, she told him, she needed to deliver with some sort of special food for the wonderful work they had done the previous day.

“Oh, that isn’t a good idea.” he told her, setting his hands on the table with some trepidation.

“Nonsense.” Nancy informed him, already opening the cupboards.

It really wasn’t.

“You’re only going to do what I say. You know how to boil pasta, don’t you? I’ll make the sauce, you do that.”

He had never done that before. He was going to ruin their food and though it seemed they had no shortage of it, he was afraid of depleting their storages with fuck-ups.

Swallowing, he took the offered package of spaghetti.

It was actually fine. He asked Nancy to tell him if the thing was done or not every thirty seconds and remembered the butter almost in last minute, but other than that it had been smooth sailing. Nancy did the sauce with vegetables and meat and he was happy enough to wait for the result. The smell of the spices had been permeating the kitchen for a while before he actually noticed it. The best kind of sneaking.

They served the boys and girls once they were done, Arthur dropping a plate in the process but being assured that _ it’s alright, it’s only plastic _ . He hadn’t been worried about the plate but messing with the kids’ clothes. They looked clean enough.

Silent once they had started to dig into the food, accompanied by the drone of the TV in the common room, Arthur looked around the table and smiled.

When he had picked up the butter and dropped it in the pot, he knew he hadn’t acted on instinct. Observing Nancy lecturing a couple of teenagers about why they were not at school, he understood where that reaction had come from. His mother.

He could remember this same smell, spicy and sweet and  _ home _ . The same combination she used for pies, for oven recipes. How strange it was, to find it all the way across London in a warehouse in the East End.

“Arthur?” Nancy asked.

He re-focused and saw her frowning with concern. He looked down at his hovering hand.

“Not as good as mother’s cooking?”

Arthur shivered.

“No,” he smiled, “it’s exactly how I remembered.”

He finished eating and looked outside. It was afternoon already. Was it a Monday? A Tuesday already?

“Sir?” a small voice asked by his side. Arthur turned and saw a little boy that looked way younger than Dodger. He was blond with brown eyes and Arthur thought he rather looked like himself when he had been younger. His heart melted.

“Please, sir, I want some more.”

“Nancy,” he called, utterly confused “why is he calling me sir?”

“He’s at that stage.” she replied, leaving it at that.

“What, of calling everyone sir?”

“No, of having a favourite word. This week is  _ sir _ .”

“Which one was the previous week?”

“Cod.”

Well, he very much preferred to be called sir, then, even if he sounded old.

Oliver grinned and Arthur gave him another serving of pasta. Winking, he told him to go to his place and stared at his back. Nancy noticed and winked back at him.

He found he quite liked her.

 

* * *

 

It had been four days since he’d come here. He had not gone out since, neither had he contacted anyone that did not live at the warehouse. A small part of him wished someone had come for him, for him to be important enough in anyone’s life to be missed a bit. Just a quarter of a feeling.

God, he was bitter. Four days away from Meriwether had been enough for him to realise that.

Nancy appeared by his side and sat opposite him on the windowsill. If he tried, he thought he could spot their street that led to the flat from the window. The setting sun meant that Nancy would soon enough go out with an older kid, perhaps Dodger, and they would walk the streets until dawn. She would then take a shower and drag herself back to bed, Arthur already asleep. That had happened for the two days and it was enough for him to create a routine. A wrong one. This was a home. But not  _ his _ home.

“I think I finally know why I have been feeling like this.” he said, as a way of greeting her.

She nodded and he marvelled at how in tune they seemed to have become in just the space of a few days.

“He made me feel so much that when all that happened, it felt like he had robbed me of  _ everything _ . He took and he took and he took and it’s like I have nothing left.” he told her “There’s this huge empty space inside my chest and I thought I could live with it, but I don’t think I can.”

He was of a weaker substance. There was only so much void he could take.

“I fell in love with him.” he told her “Then I found out he was another person.”

He paused and thought of all the ways he had tried to deny that.

“I haven’t gotten to fall out of love.”

Nancy seemed to consider what he said for a few minutes. Her hair reflected the sunlight and he thought of how young she seemed. Up close, he could see the countless freckles underneath the light dress. He could not understand how she withstood the cold with her tiny body. He was freezing in his pea coat.

“I used to…” she started, pausing and letting a frown appear on her face “...date someone who abused me. Beat me up.”

“He wasn’t violent in the beginning. He was actually the sweetest man I’d ever known.” she told him, eyes going distant for a fraction of a moment. He could feel the warmth.  “I didn’t know many sweet men. He got me flowers from the places he passed by. Stolen kisses before I went out in the evening. Said he loved me when I came back. Held me at night and promised he’d do me good.” she paused again and Arthur could picture her without a frown, being privileged enough to have seen her smile. “He started by being my protector and it got to a point Fagin had to protect me from  _ him _ .”

“It was hard. I had left Fagin to live with him because he promised he’d make a proper life for us two. No more prostituting, no more stealing. ” she huffed a sad laugh “I was a fool.”

Arthur lifted his head from where he rested at the foot of the bed and craned his neck to better see her expression. She seemed as grave as she had when he first woke on her bed. He was glad it was not on him that her seriousness rested this time.

“What happened?” he asked when it seemed she would say no more.

She shrugged. “I left.”

“Simple as that?”

Nancy sighed “For me, it was.”

Arthur figured it wasn’t. How anyone could pick someone as delicate-looking as Nancy and abuse her he did not know.

_ You are quite the delicacy. _

Meriwether had said that, hadn’t he? When they first had sex. Back when Arthur was innocent and he thought the man who had chosen him was innocent as well. Back when he had believed every lie he’d told.

He thought of the early days, of holding hands and letting shivers run across his body. Meriwether running his hands across the entirety of Arthur’s body and claiming worship. Having his doubts assuaged by sweet words kissed into his lips.

He felt the well-known shudder of want through his body. Even in such distance, want. Even after damning revelations, love. 

“I don’t think I can leave.” he admitted.

Nancy sighed again and it seemed to hold the multitude of all the misplaced loves in the world.

“Honey, you can do whatever you want.” she replied, “I found out love is a disease easily treated.”

How cold. How pragmatic. He wished he could be like that.

Arthur touched his forehead gently to the glass and groaned. Nancy laughed beside him, apparently over the momentary reminiscence. How did people do that? Close up a chapter of their lives and move on? The more he thought about doing so, the more he clung to the devil he knew. Blank slates were terrifying.

“I know what you gotta do.” Nancy stated. Arthur lifted his head in surprise “You gotta figure out who this new person is. Only _ then _ you truly break it off.”

 Her smile told him there was a lot more to her statement than he thought and he was just about to inquire further when the sound of approaching footsteps broke the moment. He looked back.

 Shit. Fagin.

The man looked even more wretched than the last time he had seen him. When he spotted Arthur, he simply smiled. Arthur had the distinct notion that his visit had not gone unnoticed. Nancy crossed her arms and faced her employer and borrowed father.

Fagin looked between the two. "Here we go again, Nancy. You're being bad for business."

"He ain't any good for this life, Fagin. He's too soft."

Arthur blinked. Had they, by any chance, discussed Saturday night?

He looked at Nancy and she mouthed _ Dodger _ . Arthur blinked again, trying to piece the hints together. Dodger had said he was pretty and had brought him to Nancy’s room. Who was a prostitute. Who had tested the waters by telling him to accompany her Saturday night on the company of Dodger? Oh god. Oh god, had they tried to  _ recruit _ him?

Fagin sighed. "You’re right. He's not honest enough for this."

He wasn't not honest enough? So the thirteen-year-old who had apparently thought he’d make a fine prostitute had been honest? Was the owner of a warehouse filled with illegalities honest? He’d despair but there had not been much honesty in his life, lately.

As if reading his mind, Fagin smiled with crooked teeth. "Off you go then.” he told him, gesturing with his hand in a vague direction “Don't say I'm a horrible monster. He can stay ‘till they fetch him."

Nancy grinned and the smile was not as crooked. Arthur would protest but that fit his purposes just fine.

 

* * *

  
  


On his fifth day, he woke up with a bang. Bleary-eyed, he lifted his head to see the lights suddenly turn on. He felt Nancy jump by his side and say something. He blinked and saw two shapes by the door.

“I really had it with all these people coming into my room.” he heard Nancy complain. He sat up and tried to understand what was happening.

“Oh,  _ hell _ .” he muttered, but it came out sluggish. He had smoked too much. Nancy had told him to stop and he had just laughed and continued on. He was going to feel this later.

“Arthur!” Honoria exclaimed. What was she doing here? The last he had seen her had been over two months ago and to say her presence in a Whitechapel den surprised him would be understating it. The lights were so bright they seemed to blur out any details.

A flurry of movement and the second figure crossed the space between the door to the bed and was climbing the bed, climbing until he could touch Arthur’s face. When it did, he felt a burst of warmth.

“Meriwether.” he breathed out. Their eyes locked and the resolve of the previous day seemed insignificant. He wanted to ask what he was doing here and how he had managed to discover him but found himself tongue-tied.

Meriwether grabbed his arm. Arthur could feel his heartbeat from where they touched. As he inspected Arthur’s arm, Nancy huffed by his side.

“I ain’t given him anything heavy!” he heard her exclaim, mostly to Meriwether.

“Arthur,” he said, sounding breathless. He had never left him breathless before. He didn’t think.

“Are you alright?”

Arthur hummed. “I quite like you when I’m high.”

Meriwether focused and refocused before him and Arthur tried to stare straight but ended up looking at his own nose. He giggled. The effort proved to be too much and the last thing he knew was Nancy’s shout of dismay and strong arms enveloping his torso.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References:
> 
> Maurice - Book by E.M. Forster, written in 1913–1914, revised in 1932 and 1959–1960 and published in 1971. A story of same-sex love I had already mentioned before as being Arthur’s favourite. The fact that its characters had a happy ending (and together!) has lent Arthur a great deal of romantic notions about love that I felt would be amusing juxtaposed with Meriwether’s.


	9. Blue Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meriwether is thrown off the loop and two siblings have a long-awaited conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for not updating the previous week! School has been hell.  
> But this chapter is a goodie and I'd love if you told me what you thought of it! Only one more chapter to go before we begin the next part, Red Expectations!

Arthur slowly woke up to the feeling that he would be hearing running water anytime soon, that Nancy would playfully shove his shoulder or tap his neck with impatience. Even after several minutes had passed and he held on in silence, waiting for the day to start with the residing grogginess of a well-spent high, he remained with his eyes closed. It took the smell of the familiar after-shave to rouse him.

_ Oh _ . He did not remember coming here but it was only logical. They could have asked him. He did remember, however, a pair of blue eyes in the darkness of that other, expected room. The shouts and surprise at seeing Honoria so far from Satis House. Meriwether he had expected. But not Honoria.

Then the touch and being overwhelmed by the drugs whose scent still lingered in the room after a night of smoking and laughing carelessly, freely.

It was another scent that stilled him now and when he opened his eyes he noticed nothing had changed. The sheets, the tiny space, the bathroom door ajar in the usual angle. He did not know what he had been expecting when little over four days had passed.

The sofa contained the sole surprise, curled up in the comforter Arthur had claimed as his own.

He had watched Meriwether sleeping many times before, on the few nights he did not go out, none of them by his own want but by the necessity of having something to focus on when insomnia claimed him. Arthur had found him a poor subject for observation because Meriwether slept peacefully, beautifully. He did not drool or snore. He didn't speak whilst he slept or turn over at all. He fell asleep as soon as he hit the mattress and turned into a perfect statue. When dawn came, the spell would be broken and the man would start his painstakingly maintained routine. Arthur marvelled at the levity of the man's conscience that did not even bring a frown to his repose. He wished he could claim such blamelessness through sleep, but alcohol had been the instrument his mind had chosen. When it brought him to sleep, it was a fitful one. The past few days at the warehouse had been bliss.

A soft sound caught his attention again. Even if the devil slept, it knew it was being watched and the next time Arthur refocused his attention on Meriwether's face, his gaze was returned.

"You're awake." he said, unblinking.

Arthur nodded but it must have looked like he was burrowing further into the pillow. He thought back to the first night he had spent in this bed. How drunk he had been, drunker than he’d ever been since because he knew of the dangers of such vulnerability. He wished Meriwether would not jump onto him anytime soon. He had no energy left, with the past few days having turned him supple and lazier than usual. Meriwether remained likewise curled and not for the first time Arthur tried to guess his age. It changed according to the time of the day, chosen wear and occasion. When he slept he did not look much older than Amelia. He'd seen him dress up to his early thirties, however, and even Arthur had been fooled for some seconds. As if the man could magically age with a certain combination of jacket and tie.

Dressed like this, with a simple shirt and pyjama pants, Arthur would say he was old enough for Amelia and Honoria. Definitely too old for Arthur. He smiled at the thought, at what Meriwether would say to that.

Meriwether caught it and frowned in confusion. That only made Arthur want to laugh in his face, but he restrained the urge in favour of mirroring his frown.

"What day is it?" he asked, wincing at the roughness of his voice. He  _ did _ sound like he had smoked, despite whatever Nancy said about weed not being like other cigarettes. Good thing his sister wasn't here to lecture him, seeing as she was vehemently against the stuff. She hated it when their father smoked so much that he had taken to strolls in the garden at Grosvenor Square to escape her scrutiny.  _ It is bad for your health and it smells and it makes your voice rough _ , she'd say. He'd be alright with that. Meriwether smelled more of after-shave than cigarettes and his voice never cracked. He doubted he could be unhealthy too. Demons were not so easily destroyed.

"It's a Thursday," Meriwether replied, beginning to stretch. He never could quite stand still, could he? Not even to keep oddly peaceful moments. "You were missing for five days."

He sounded oddly put off, as if Arthur being away had been a minor inconvenience in his plans. Seeing as he only had to walk a few blocks to reach the warehouse Arthur had been at, he thought he didn't have much to complain.

"I wasn't missing," Arthur informed him "I knew where I was the whole time."

A muscle on Meriwether's jaw twitched.

"You were missing to me."

Now Arthur really had to hide his smile, faking a stretch to hide his face behind arms.

Meriwether seemed to catch up with what he had said, uncharacteristically slow of him, and got up to cross the small distance to the kitchen and pour himself a glass of water. He pointedly did not offer any to Arthur and drank on with an iron grip on the glass. Arthur had made him distressed and he thought he deserved a big cake for himself. Too bad his birthday wasn't anytime soon.

"I didn't know where you were." he re-phrased as if that would make it better.

Arthur huffed. "Well, I wasn't very far, was I?"

Meriwether set the glass on the counter with more force than necessary.

"Well, I didn't know that, did I?" he bickered back. Arthur loved it.

"You should have asked for directions then."

Meriwether raised an eyebrow. “Why do you think I asked your sister’s bestie?”

Arthur stopped mid-stretch. So that was why she had been at the warehouse too. Meriwether, the mighty con man. Asking help from a simple tailor’s assistant. He could see the start of a story there.

“My sister’s  _ bestie _ wouldn’t help you in a million years.”

“And yet.” said Meriwether, smirking.

“And yet  _ you asked _ .”

Meriwether’s smirk fell to be replaced by an unwilling sneer.

“I was  _ not _ worried, damn it.” he said, stressing the  _ not _ as if it would change the fact that he had looked for him across London and back. That he had tucked him into his own bed.

“I’d never suggest it.” he replied, making a show of yawning and rubbing his face on Meriwether’s pillow.

“You think you’re very important, don’t you?”

“You do keep talking at me.” he bit back, daring to shut his eyes again. He listened on to guess the man’s answer but none came. He opened one eye and saw him clench and unclench his hands as if longing for Arthur’s neck. Lovely. It actually worked.

"I'm not apologising, you know?" he continued. Meriwether stopped mid-motion and frowned. Then his brow cleared and he rolled his eyes.

"Yes, I did not think you would." Meriwether sneered, sitting down on the sofa again "Was that your first time slapping someone? I thought it was a bit girlish."

Arthur did not rise to the heckle. It was so weak Meriwether did not even bother to register Arthur’s reaction to it. He thought that strangely comforting. He had been so afraid that he'd be hit back when he had left that he had not considered the hypothesis that Meriwether would have had his share of slaps. It was an uncertain territory between what Meriwether found offensive or not and it was dangerous to navigate it.

“It was, actually. People don’t usually offend me  _ and _ my sister.”

“I must be very  _ important _ to you, then. Striking two Havishams in a single blow.” Meriwether replied. Arthur glared, mask slipping for a moment, but resumed his approach as best as he could.

“If you had a sister, you’d be frightened by now.”

Meriwether leant back on the sofa and smiled with more gusto than strictly necessary. “Is she that fierce? She seemed pretty tame when I met her.”

It was Arthur’s turn to smirk. “She was being kind on my behalf.”

“You seem very sure of your sister’s affections towards you.” Meriwether stated, stretching both arms across the sofa ”What have you done to deserve them?”

Arthur swallowed. “Nothing. I would have left me alone and forgotten that I exist. My sister would be right in tossing me aside in favour of my father, not because he was right but it was the right thing to do. As a Havisham.” he paused as tried to gather his thoughts “I brought this on myself. I could have said no, I could have opened my eyes at any point. I didn’t and the fact is, I brought  _ you  _ to my life. But you asked Honoria for help.”

He stopped for dramatic effect and Meriwether frowned in confusion.

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“I mean,” he replied, sitting up on his elbows “that my sister’s  _ bestie _ would not help you in a million years  _ if  _ my sister had nothing going for it.”

Meriwether stewed over that for a few moments as Arthur sat up and grimaced at the stench that arose. Yes, a bath would be great. Or a shower. Anything to soothe months-old cramps and days worth of aches.

“The friend is a bit too cunning, isn’t she?” Meriwether eventually said, dragging a hand along his neck. There was some stubble and Arthur wanted to lick it, to consume that single show of discomfort from the man that had brought him so much of it.

“I’m afraid so,” Arthur answered, refraining from patting Meriwether comfortingly in the arm both because it’d have the opposite the effect and because he could not trust himself with touch just yet. “To bite the bitter pill and all that. It all catches up to you eventually. I’m ready to swallow it, but are  _ you _ ?”

Meriwether’s look of distaste remained until minutes passed and there was a knock at the door. Meriwether’s expression alone was worth the weekend away, but Arthur felt a bit terrified himself. Of the person he knew would show up, eventually, because he had months to wait for her, to hope for her. If not reconciliation, amends. 

When Amelia entered, Honoria following closely behind, she seemed changed. The dark clothes she wore made her look like she was mourning. He hoped she wasn’t, not about him. That the harsh words they had shared had not driven a final wedge between them. They had grown closer in the months after he had met Meriwether, became friends in that strange way siblings never really could when expectations were high but higher for one of them. There had always been a difference between them, but Amelia carried herself distinctively now. Not as high, a bit as if there was something burrowing on her throat and she needed to shout it out. A bit like when they had been kids and their father had talked over him at lunch and Amelia had kept an argument restrained in her mouth.

He hated it.

She addressed Meriwether first, giving him a nod but not saying anything else. Honoria hovered behind her, gaze already focused on Arthur. She seemed to be trying to warn him, but as with her frail attempt of telling him of Meriwether’s nature, it went disregarded.

“You’re not going to hit me too, right?” Meriwether asked in a vaguely concerned tone. He had thought Arthur’s slap girly but Arthur had an inkling that he’d find Amelia’s a bit too much. Or Honoria’s. She had slapped him once in the arm and he’d spent the entire evening crying into his pillow.

“Mr Compeyson,” she said cooly “if there is one thing you do not deserve, it is the touch of my hand.”

Meriwether’s jaw slacked with clear surprise towards the reply. Arthur cheered internally and if he wasn’t so dependent on Amelia’s first good impression of him after two months, he’d have laughed out loud.

Then Amelia spotted him across the room and the laughter died in Arthur just as fast as it began.

Her eyes were soft and they were the sole reason he did not hide again underneath the sheets. Her posture was otherwise imposing, reaching towards him across the room and overlapping Honoria’s presence. For the first time ever, Meriwether seemed to blend into the background. His sister was all that mattered.

“Mr Compeyson,” she repeated, gaining a bit of the high-bred attitude he had come to associate with her for many years, an attitude he was ready to question now. “may I have a private conversation with my brother?”

Arthur noticed from the corner of his eye Meriwether opening his arms wide to encompass the lack of compartments in the room. Amelia blinked and Arthur thought of Meriwether locking himself in the bathroom and pretending that the flat had any sort of sound isolation.

It was Honoria’s time to speak up. “Outside.”

Meriwether huffed. “May I inform you this is  _ my _ house and that I could throw you out any time?”

Honoria raised an eyebrow. “And may I inform you there is a policeman in Mayfair who would love to learn about just that?”

There was a silence before Meriwether followed unwillingly. Before leaving, however, he threw Arthur a look that Arthur very deliberately ignored. He didn’t know anything about a policeman but perhaps he should be worried. Maybe later.

Then it was only Amelia and Arthur. Heir and former heir. Meeting in a con man’s tiny flat in the East End. There was much unsaid between them, the silences of months weighing heavily in a way Arthur’s self-imposed isolation and Amelia’s focus on her work never had. Whatever they had to say each other now, it would be defining in what would happen to their relationship.

The tense silence was broken by Amelia’s sigh.

“Honoria told me she found you in a warehouse.” she started, hovering uncertainly as if she did not quite belong in the flat. She really didn’t, and he wished they didn’t have to do this here.

“She told me you were high.”

Arthur clicked his tongue. “It wasn’t like that.”

“So how was it like, Arthur?” she snapped, startling him with the sudden ferocity of her voice. He had to look at her, and she was forced to look back. He wanted to cower, to flinch at the underlying accusation.

“It was just a bit of weed.” he told her, attempting a smile “Nothing more.”

“You certainly smell like it.” she commented, and he thought that was rather unfair. Only twenty per cent of the smell was weed-related.

Seeing as he said nothing, she refrained from pursuing that line of thought and inhaled deeply. He thought that was a mistake and the crunching of her nose told him she was of the same opinion.

“I don’t know why you would willingly choose to smoke it.”

Arthur blew out a breath.

“I don’t know why you are talking about the weed and not the fact that we haven’t seen each other for almost two months now.” he countered “I don’t know why you’re pretending that everything is alright and that we’re having a row about my non-existent smoking habits.”

Amelia looked at him with a strange sort of expression. Not pity or anger, but something far more pained.

“It’s a matter of choice. you chose to smoke that foul thing.” she explained, hands clenched by her sides “That’s how it starts, Arthur. Don’t you know anything?”

Arthur wanted to laugh, if his heart did not clench so miserably at his sister’s voice. “Amelia, is the cigarette a metaphor?”

“Stop joking.”

“I’m not, you’re the one talking about cigarettes.”

Amelia closed her mouth against another argument and Arthur felt thankful for it. Her eyes strayed ever slightly from his face, to his bare arms and the sheets covering his body. Analysing, but not like Meriwether at all. Not calculating, but to take in as much as she could. As if it would be the last time they would see each other.

“I didn’t choose to be gay.” he replied after a few seconds “I didn’t choose to be my father’s son either.”

Her focus snapped back to him.

“You chose that man.” she replied, coldly, and Arthur wished he had kept his mouth shut.

“I’m doing this wrong, aren’t I?” she asked, sitting on the sofa - but not without checking for any stray items. “I need Honoria for this.”

“I need Honoria to keep Meriwether from our conversation or he’ll interrupt and make things worse.” he said, sliding his legs from underneath the sheets and facing his sister like he refused to face Meriwether.

“I am sorry for what I said.” he continued, hands clenching in his dirty jeans and trying to concentrate on what he had planned to say, on what Nancy had suggested. “For trying to implicate Honoria-”

“Don’t.” his sister interrupted. Arthur looked up, startled. Amelia looked at her lap.

“Honoria told me everything that happened.”

“Everything?” Arthur asked, trying to understand why his sister seemed so commiserate when  _ he _ had been in the wrong.

“About what Mr Compeyson did to you.” she explained “That she was afraid of what he would do to her if she told me. That he outed you to our father on purpose and not because you had been careless. That it probably wasn’t your idea to bring him to our home.”

He felt grateful to Honoria, then, even if it had taken two months and countless arguments with the devil himself.

She inhaled, eyes closing briefly. “That you were living with him because you had nowhere else to go.”

At this, she led her hands to her mouth in an abrupt display of emotion. Arthur did not know what to do. He had never seen his sister like this. Not since his mother died.

“Arthur, I’m so sorry.” she gasped, eyes shuttering “I’m your sister and I did not protect you. You’re only eighteen.”

Arthur ignored that last part because he wasn’t  _ only  _ eighteen. He was  _ already _ eighteen and some of the things that escaped his sister were already too well-known to him.

“You,” he rasped, feeling helpless when it wasn’t him crying “You didn’t know. You were only being sensible.”

“Damn my sensibility!” she snapped amongst tears “Damn my pride that kept me from looking for you, for asking Pocket for his help, for ignoring Honoria and letting this go on for so long.”

Arthur dropped to his knees, reaching for his sister’s hands without even noticing it.

She sniffed, wiping some stray tears from her eyes. “You know, I kept imagining I’d see you coming back, week after week. That when you didn’t come for the weekend it was because you stayed at school to study for your tests. Then it was because you probably had a play. Then I pretended you were just feeling more comfortable at school.”

She frowned and her mouth curved unhappily “I kept telling myself it was alright even though I knew it wasn’t. I even ignored Matthew. Matthew, of all people!” she sighed and started stroking his hand as absent-mindedly as he touched hers “You know, he didn’t come for Christmas or New Year's, not even after father sent him an invitation.”

Arthur was touched, much as his cousin’s name made him want to cry as well.

“He only sent me a message saying he couldn’t go where you weren’t welcomed as well. I felt so offended, so alone. My brother abandoning me, and then my cousin.” she confessed, tears gathering yet again. Arthur felt a pang in his heart at the thought of how two siblings could undo a cousin’s goodwill. “And I ignored him!”

Arthur had ignored him too. 

“It’s alright, Amelia.” he said, when she fell quieter and the tears fewer “It’s all alright now. You know now.”

He figured he could still salvage something from his prepared speech. 

“I felt the same, you know?” he admitted “I spent Christmas night alone, thinking about what you were doing. New Year’s was the same.”

He did not tell her what Meriwether had done on the first occasion, or what he had become in the second. There were some things one should not tell one’s sister, even for pity points. She seemed, however, to warm up at what he said and he looked at her next she seemed to regain some confidence in her voice.

“Why are you living with him?” she asked, making Arthur hesitate. There were many reasons, the knowledge of which he was unwilling to part with. None of them would resonate with Amelia, who had never fallen in love. Amelia, who maintained control of herself through the most distressing situations, heartfelt conversations with a younger sibling after two months of absence notwithstanding.

“I don’t feel welcome elsewhere.” he eventually answered “Father kicked me out, much as you don’t like to admit it. I assume he took me out of school because I’m technically an adult.”

Amelia frowned at him, tears gone but expression still troubled.

“I can’t  _ be _ anywhere else.” he corrected.

“Arthur, you can be anywhere you wish to be.” she countered.

He really could not. Not even the warehouse for the unwanted made him feel wanted.

"But what about Matthew?"

"I can't go to Matthew whenever I'm in a tight spot."

"You know he doesn't mind." his sister reasoned.

" _ I _ mind, Amelia!” he exclaimed, “I mind!"

He could not throw the garbage his life had become to his cousin's feet. He would not. Matthew would have enough to worry about with his family growing apart from the Havishams. He did not doubt Matthew’s refusal had been backed by his father and that his own father would have found it incredibly offensive. He also knew the stress Mathew would be in, so close to his A-levels. That he had been behind back in December and that he had to make up for it.

Everyone’s lives continued on with their daily worries and Arthur just wanted to let it go.

“I’ve been disinherited.” he said, trying to make Amelia understand. He wanted out. Not of her life, but of their previous lifestyle. He no longer wished for time to revert and for Meriwether to never have set his eyes on him. To refuse the photo would have just delayed the inevitable. His life had been a sequence of delays. Coming out had been forced onto him, but he could take responsibility for his own actions now.

“You choose your own heritage, Arthur.” Amelia said, making him smile. They  _ did _ think alike, sometimes. He could recall matching gifts and common paths in a childhood far away, of similar mittens hanging by the kitchen door.

“I choose this.” he said, tone leaving no space for further arguing. His hand turned in Amelia’s.

“I choose this new life, this new chance at being something other than Arthur  _ Havisham _ .”

Amelia looked at him for a long moment before speaking again. “I liked Arthur Havisham,” she said, lips pursing slightly “ but I’ll love who you choose to be.”

They fell naturally into a hug and Arthur felt like crying again. Nancy had touched him for the past few days, and now Amelia did the same. He did not remember the last time he had hugged his sister, nor that she smelled like the Ivy that grew on Satis House around her bedroom window. He thought he had forgotten the sight altogether because it had been too long since he had sworn to climb it and reach his sister’s room. A childhood memory, a fleeting impression made stronger by the regained contact.

They hung onto each other, Arthur at his sister’s feet and Amelia sliding down the couch. It should be terribly uncomfortable - perhaps even awkward - but all he could think of was that he wasn’t so alone anymore. That maybe he had never been.

When they parted, Amelia’s eyes were shining but any tears that threatened to fall were firmly held back. He didn’t think it was due to the usual discomfort at displaying emotion, but rather satisfaction. Maybe happiness. Maybe Amelia was happy. Arthur thought he could be.

She patted his hand, gave a final sigh and gathered herself up again. His big sister was back.

"I will draw you a bath, then.” she said, voice strong again “You can’t start a new life smelling like that."

Arthur laughed, and that was that.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References:
> 
> Ivy - means bonding according to ‘The Language of Flowers’ by Kate Greenaway and I thought it’d be appropriate as this is the moment the two siblings finally get it together.


	10. Blue days have the reddest dawns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meriwether isn't too fond of pyjamas conversations,but maybe something can be salvaged of the whole situation.

He had had no choice but to remove himself from his own home. That he should host one teenager in his flat was ridiculous enough. With two young adults added to the mix, he felt that a cigarette was long due. He could have gone to the fire escape, but he didn’t know how long the conversation would take. Stepping outside to the corridor, he rested his elbows on the railing and tried to ignore the girl behind him. Seeing as she chose to lean against the wall by the side of the door, the task was difficult.

He took out a packet from the back of his pants and belatedly realised he was still wearing his pyjamas. Squinting at Honoria, he could not tell if she was the kind to notice the difference. He picked a cigarette but offered it experimentally to Honoria, to see what she would do.

She simply made a face and turned slightly against the other direction.

They had spent an entire afternoon trying to figure out where Arthur could have gone only to be redirected by a policeman - consulted against his will -to a warehouse full of junkies and burglars. He had been called a _naff_ , whatever that meant. The least she could do would be to talk.

“It won’t kill you.” he told her.

She wrapped her arms around herself and gave him an eye roll, but said nothing. Meriwether accepted it for a few minutes. Three, two at most. Then he had to break the icy silence.

“I guess your friend is taking her brother home.”

Much to his surprise, she did react to that.

“Oh, I don’t think she will,” she replied, smile playing on her lips. It was annoying.

“What do you mean?” he asked her, making her look at him as if he was being obtuse. He thought she underestimated Arthur’s ability to making a mess out of things.

She, of course, did not explain herself. Looking at him up and down, she sketched another smile and blinked. He lit a cigarette just so he wouldn’t have to wring her neck.

“Nice pyjamas.”

A beat of awkwardness.

“You two sort of invaded my house.” he muttered, blowing out smoke and watching it billowing upwards.

“You _let_ us.” she told him “You could have dressed up.”

Meriwether snorted. “I’m usually more dapper.”

“Yes, you are.” Honoria agreed “The first time I saw you, not knowing that you would be Arthur’s date, I pictured all sort of things about you. You looked very sharp. I instantly thought lawyer or something in business. When you told us you were a consultant, I thought it was the truth. The jacket told me so.”

Meriwether couldn’t help but preen under the compliments. He did love them so. And even if arranging a date with Arthur had been easy - the problem of asking for a _special_ drink at Silas notwithstanding - he had made an effort to perfect the image he wanted to convey to a target much younger than the one he was used to. Older women and men were much more susceptible, life experience seeming to vanish under the glamour of a well-dressed gentleman. Young people had _expectations_. It was nice to be recognised in one of his most challenging works.

“If it weren’t for the details, I’d be convinced.”

Meriwether frowned and looked at the girl. Details? Meriwether lived off details and the unnoticed. All the little lies he had been forced to tell while he dated Arthur had been taken care of to the last source. What had she noticed that he missed?

Smile growing wider, she explained. “The socks.”

When no further development came, he was forced to speak up again. Honoria was dragging the conversation on for some reason.

“What about the socks?”

If she grinned wider, she’d be stuck that way.

“They were cheap.”

He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. For all that was sacred in this world, yes they were. He’d been in a tight spot back in October, needing the money that would eventually come from Arthur to replenish some of his earlier wardrobe choices. Investing in good shoes came at the cost of socks. Then there had been that special Burberry collection. He couldn’t afford a coat but he just _had_ to have a scarf.

“No one notices the socks.”

“I do.” she replied promptly. He could think of a number of places for her to stuck his cheap socks in.

Puffing as passive aggressively as he could, eventually he had to say something. If not to dissipate the cloud hovering over their heads, at least for his own ego’s sake. He reached for his personal notes.

“You seem to recognise quality very well. It’s because of that job at the tailor, right? ” he asked her, observing the shift in her posture and how she turned away just a bit. She didn’t like the work, that must be it. He could work with that. “Do you steal socks when he isn’t looking?”

Honoria turned to look at him as if the very notion offended her. It probably would, he could never quite tell with these honest folks.

“I am not even going to grace that with an answer.”

Smart girl. “Or any item, for that matter. Maybe it’s a bit from the cashier. It must have been so hard, getting stuck in that job when your father went bankrupt. You could have been in the higher branches, managing production in a company, like Amelia.”

When her hand gripped the railing with force, he knew he had hit something.

“At least she can make the decisions.” he bemoaned “She doesn’t have to take charity from a friend. Tell me, Honoria, do you wish you could be in her shoes?”

At this, she slowly turned and looked him in the eyes.

“I can assure you I do not envy Amelia at all.” she said, tone dead cold but eyes glinting “All this for making fun of your socks?”

Honoria, for all of the invisible pedestal she had put herself in, did not seem too certain of herself. It wasn’t jealousy. But there was something more. He was curious, but not so curious that he would take the matter further than he had to. He was, after all, just doing his research. Ther was nothing to be gained from her distress.

He smirked. “My clothing is sacred.”

“If I could,” Honoria said, head held high “I would burn it.”

He thought that was a bit extreme.

“What I have done to warrant so much hatred?”

Honoria gave him a look that could wilt flowers. “Seeing as you have forgotten what you just said, I’m going to remind you that you once threatened me.”

“Once.” he stressed.

“One time too many.”

“You should learn with Arthur,” he told her “he doesn’t mind.”

“The day I understand the way he thinks will mean I either lost my common sense or that I became a better writer.”

He had forgotten about her writing. A pointless hobby for a tailor’s assistant.

“Put it in perspective,” he proposed “I could have taken your money as well.”

“Mr Compeyson, “ she said, and he had to make an effort of not cowering. She might hit him again. “There can be no perspective in emotional blackmail.”

“You do know how to name things.” Maybe it was the writing thing. Arthur tended to use some strange words as well when he tried to insult him. Even if Meriwether did not know their meaning, the tone was all too clear.

“Also, I’d have no money for you to financially blackmail me.”

He supposed she didn’t. Family bankruptcy usually came after his interference, not before. That his presence did not make her whimper or quiver was a let-down, but also one he could play off. There was something about Amelia and this girl that made him hold back.

As if guessing the course of his thoughts, she inclined over the railing and looked up at him with a softer gaze.

“Since you seem so concerned with Arthur’s coping processes, I’m going to give you a warning.” she said, holding his gaze for a few moments “Arthur is not my favourite person in the world. But he is Amelia’s brother. Whatever he chooses to do now, Amelia will have his eyes on him all the time. And I’ll have my eyes on Inspector Bucket’s contact.”

That was only sensible, he guessed. A bit precocious, seeing as the boy would probably choose to live with his cousin from now on, but then again perhaps they had not spoken in those months Arthur had lived with Meriwether. He could admit to becoming fond of the whiny thing. He supposed there was no chance of keeping him as a house pet.

His musings were interrupted by the flat’s door opening. Amelia stood in the doorway, looking very pleased with herself. A stark contrast to the grim clothes she wore, Meriwether wouldn’t be surprised if she started skipping down the staircase. How endearing. The two siblings had made up and all was well with the Havisham heirs apart from the inheritance matters themselves. The fact that she came out alone probably meant Arthur wanted to stay, a choice that made Meriwether wonder - not for the first time since he had met the boy - if he had hit his head as a child. Stockholm's syndrome would also be a valid option, even if Meriwether had not technically held him captive the past few months.

Had his father been so effective in his spurning that the boy denied to returning to him still? Meriwether could do with some pointers in abandonment processes himself. His latest case had not gone according to plan.

Amelia gave Honoria a small smile and turned to Meriwether. There was a moment in which she looked him up and down and he recognised the attempt to intimidate him. Meriwether put the cigarette out.

“I will be back.” she sentenced, heading already for the stairs with Honoria trailing behind. They left in a waft of perfume he could not identify and Meriwether was left alone in the corridor, risking a curious excursion from one of his neighbours. He could not be seen in pyjamas.

“My house is not a youth centre!” Meriwether remembered to shout before they vanished from his sight. He thought he could hear a giggle. He really hated girls.

Alone in the corridor wearing only a shirt and pyjamas, he had no choice but to return inside. His gaze was drawn to the bed, currently empty. Faint sounds could be heard from the bathroom. A splash, a hum. The running water.

Meriwether headed towards the division.

Arthur was having a bubble bath. He couldn’t even start to guess where that amount of soap had come from. The mirror was already fogging despite the tub still being in the process of being filled. The idiot’s clothes were scattered by the entryway and Meriwether resisted the impulse to pick them up. There was a little window on the side that apartment that faced the alley between buildings and light gently streamed onto the tiled bathroom, a gift from the sun that set with uncertainty in the miraculously dry recent days. The fog that arose in the room seemed to create a cloud around Arthur, who looked heavenly and so unlike himself, Meriwether could not help but stare. There were small hairs sticking from the back of his neck.

He briefly considered to lick them, to touch the skin with the pad of his thumb. The moment passed and he closed his hand into a fist, finding the sensation of Arthur's skin under his from memories he had thought suppressed.

Minding the moisture on the floor, he sat with his back against the bathtub. Arthur stopped the running water.

There was a long time before he did anything other than listening to Arthur shifting in the water, washing the grime and sweat from the past days. He could smell even more soap being poured but he couldn’t bring himself to protest. Let the boy have a rest. He’d have time to torture him further. Meriwether lit another cigarette, struggled to light it due to the fog. It was rare for him to do so inside the house, but it had been a taxing day. He spotted Arthur lifting his hand from his peripheral field of vision, letting it hover for a few moments before Meriwether understood and passed him the cigarette.

“I thought you didn’t smoke.” he said after a few moments.

“So did I.” he muttered, cigarette between full lips. “Seeing as I’m already self-destructive, I might as well go the whole way.”

Meriwether was not self-destructive at all. He had taken extra care not to let his vices turn into addictions. Cigarettes would never be a problem for him as long as he kept a limit. He was far too smart to let it consume him.

“There are quicker ways to go at it.”

Arthur snorted. “No, I would quite like to torment you for a bit more.”

Meriwether raised his eyebrows. Well, well.

“Are you sure it’s not the other way around?” he asked. Arthur did not reply to that, but returned the cigarette. When Meriwether pressed his lips against it again, there was water and soap and a surprising amount of chamomile. He supposed the sister had brought the soap, which was good. It was a smell Arthur had lost over the time he had lived with him, one that had been present during their earlier days. Maybe it had been the soap after all. When he next inhaled, it was as if Arthur had kissed him underwater.

"I loved you, you know?" Arthur said after a while. Meriwether kept silent. He had not needed Arthur muttering it in his sleep to be sure of it.

"I actually fell in love with you. Pocket told me to beware, Amelia said I needed to be sure. But I trusted you. I let you in and now I'm infected."

Meriwether clenched his jaw. He knew they would talk about it, eventually. It had been the true reason of their argument, after all. Arthur being sore about Meriwether’s deceit. Maybe he did mind. One could never tell, not when he resisted his sister undoubtedly asking him to come home with her. "You liked it, Arthur. We had a good ride."

For all that it was worth, he had behaved differently. It had been strange at first, a different sort of posture before a target. Not as forward, not so seductive but rather charming. The sex had been...interesting. Strangely innocent but not boring. Even he had grown fond of the illusion. As far as fake relationships went, this one had been a good dynamic. Arthur did not have any weird kinks that Meriwether had to sort out or attend to and he was pretty. His lips were the best he had ever kissed, though the other uses he had for that mouth of his were troublesome when he found himself rambling about his favourite topics.

" _You_ had a good ride.” Arthur told him, silently requesting for another puff that Meriwether granted “You were the one driving."

So the boy wanted some agency. That was achievable, he supposed. If a bit unrealistic when he did nothing for a living. His fingers had pruned already, adapting to the environment of the tub not unlike he seemed to have adapted to Meriwether’s lifestyle during the months he had lived with him. Arthur had been strangely alright with all the things Meriwether did, as long as they did not involve sexual manipulation of himself. The world was a cesspool of grey and London was an example of its skewed morals. None of his victims had been saints, but he’d thought maybe Arthur would be an exception, pure and innocent as he looked when he first saw him in that bar. The photos couldn’t have done justice to his full lips and dark eyes. They did well enough to capture the put-off pout of a privileged kid, maybe the youth and his inexperience, but not what he had come to know in the brief time they had spent as a couple.

Arthur Havisham was a brat of the highest degree, one Meriwether had not been faced with since his schooldays. He was overly emotional, scatter-brained and selfish. He had been demanding but devoted in bed, lacking on self-confidence and making it up by pretending to know more than he did during conversations. If he had continued his studies, he would have done well in college with other fellow teachers and students, equally fussy about grammar and worried more about the etymology of words than the real world. He would have gone to be a frustrated adult with published translations and a string of unsuccessful relationships, maybe a strained one with his father. He and his sister would have remained loyal to each other if he did not go out of his way to make it impossible to have a reconciliation and he would have been mostly _alright_. He didn’t need to have a strong imagination to picture it perfectly. Arthur had a desire to prove himself and reaching academic success would be a way to do it.

He had, however, a desire to be wicked as well.

If they kept exchanging the cigarette, the moisture would put it completely out. He could see where this was going.

"I was good to you.” he insisted, struggling against a smirk “I was tender."

Arthur's voice sounded constricted when he spoke again. "You _used_ tenderness."

Blowing out a breath, he shifted in the bathtub. "You used it to use me, in fact. You used it to get my father’s money without so much as a warning. I don’t want your tenderness."

“How was I supposed to know he’d kick you out?” Meriwether asked, feeling affronted, None of this was a matter of his. Whatever happened after his intended reward came along was but an aftermath of circumstance.

There was a sudden shift behind him and the water sloshed in the bathtub. He managed to get up before there was any damage done to his shirt, but the back of his hair suffered from the movement, sticking to his neck in an unpleasant way. When he looked down, Arthur held onto the tub’s side as if he was resisting to jump across the bathroom and choke the life out of Meriwether. Meriwether felt a warmth running across his body at the sight.

“Could the mighty con man not have accounted for the intolerance of the upper classes?”

It wasn’t a matter of not having accounted for it, but rather not having cared. He was sure someone would have picked Arthur off his feet, given him shelter and that he’d be better off without the pressure of the family. He had not talked with the cousin beyond that first approach in which he had gotten him drunk and unable to protect his darling Arthur, but he thought he would have been worried at the banishment. It turned out his empty optimism had turned out to be just that. The only factor that he had not put in perspective had been Arthur himself.

“I accounted for everything.” he said firmly.

“Except me staying.”

“So you _are_ staying.” he concluded, aware of how cocky Arthur seemed to have gotten during his brief holidays. He secretly liked it, the fighting and the teasing. “Is it because of the rent? Because I assure you, you must pull your weight.”

“I’m not a housewife.”

“You’re certainly a shitty one.” he replied, “I can’t even guess how the bathroom will turn out after your bath.”

“I can pull my weight.” Arthur said. From his point of view, he could see all the angles and curves and soft tufts of hair. The goosebumps on his skin.

“Are you thinking of fucking other men for money?”

He had not meant to let the ‘other’ slip. He doubted Arthur would, not so soon after talking with his sister. The right conversations with siblings often had that changing effect. A hug from a sister and all evils would be forgotten, all misgivings becoming null.

Arthur wrinkled his nose as if he had not been in the habit of doing exactly that just a week before.

"What are you going to do now?" he asked, already knowing the answer because there really was just the one.

"That’s obvious.” Arthur replied, stretching across the bathtub and nearly flooding the floor again ”I'm going to be a con man too."

Meriwether smiled. This should be fun.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final chapter of part two! Who-hoo!  
> Stay tuned for next week, bringing us Red Expectations through Meriwether and Honoria's POV!
> 
> Also, a final author's note. Naff = Tacky

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you've liked it!  
> Come and speak to me at malchikelf.tumblr.com


End file.
